


Dandelions

by Crollalanza



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Beginnings, Gen, M/M, Roommates, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-12 11:15:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 38,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13546209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: Arriving for the Inter Highs, Kita Shinsuke had expected a few issues (not least because the Miya twins could barely last a night in each other's company without causing a ruckus) but the overoccupancy of the hotel wasn't anything he'd envisaged.Booked in with another team, someone will have to share with a rival, and it would be simple if the other player were a first year (pliable and without influence) but it's not.For the other team are Shiratorizawa, and the player looking for a roommate is none other than their most tricksy of Middle Blockers ...Tendou SatoriAnd when push comes to shove, Shinsuke knows that only he is up to the task of sharing.





	1. Unpacking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cirrus (themorninglark)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/themorninglark/gifts).



> This is for Lark, because a twitter conversation where I tried to think up the most preposterous Kita ship resulted in this.

The journey had been long, it was true, and arduous, but it was nothing Kita Shinsuke couldn’t cope with. Precautions before the off had been taken, with the Miya brothers given the back row, and Aran sitting in the middle so he could not only stretch his legs, but was within head-slapping distance of both of them. Oomimi Ren had been given the responsibility of the coach movies because his glare was enough to send even Suna scuttling back to his seat when he tried to sneak one of his own DVDs into the approved selection. Akagi Michinari kept up non-stop chat with the first years to ease their nerves, and Ginjima had been allocated a window seat next to Suna and as far away from the Miyas as possible, to keep him out of trouble.

(Shinsuke knew, he really did, that Gin-kun’s mistakes really were accidental, but his brand of enthusiasm wasn’t productive and needed to be nipped in the bud.)

So the journey wasn’t, in the end, a problem. The team might have got off the bus complaining of cramped limbs and scrabbling around to find face masks because ‘the air here smells of shit’, but as they looked around, taking in the hotel they were to stay in, their spirits soared as high as one of ‘Tsumu’s tosses.

It was large enough to not have that suffocating intimacy, but not a concrete block, and at the front there were waist height terracotta plant pots, flanking the doors. He paused by one of them, noting the riot of colours, and twitching a smile at a straggling dandelion daring to poke its yellow mane proudly through the extravagance of pink and purple petals. A tiny individual, poking out its tongue and proclaiming its right to stand with its distant kin.

So, for his own part, Shinsuke was content with the hotel.

Then kicked himself for his lack of diligence in not checking on the arrangements himself.

 “Um, we do have a teeny problem,” the receptionist said, miming with her finger and thumb the _teeniness_ of the issue, then blinking rapidly as she assessed them all (blushing when she encountered double Miya smiles).

“Which is?”Coach Kurosu barked.

“Uh, we’re a little overbooked. There’s a volleyball tournament in town and …” She took in their kitbags.  “Oh, I guess you know that”

“We have reservations,” Coach Oomi informed her, leaning over the desk. “I made them personally.”

“Oh, yes, I have no doubt about that, and it’s not that you don’t have any rooms, we can accommodate you. We will honour your reservations, but there was a bit of  ... uh ... a mix up.”

She swallowed as both coaches glared, then glancing sideways met Shinsuke’s gaze. He bowed his head and waited impassively for whatever news she had to impart. They had rooms. Surely it couldn’t be that bad?

Taking heart from the exchange, the receptionist ploughed on.

“We had two reservations made the same day, and then both parties increased their room requirement the following week, and that’s where the problem lies.”

“Would you explain?” Shinsuke asked, stepping closer to the desk when his Coaches appeared to have lost the power of speech.

“Everything is in order, apart from one room, which someone will have to share.” She coughed. “I mean someone from the Inarizaki party will need to share with someone from the ... uh ...”

“Kurosu-san!” A voice rasped over all their heads, but everyone’s eyes shifted downwards until they found the speaker.

“Washijou-sama?” the Inarizaki coach queried, peering between shoulders. “Is that you?”

A low growl could be heard.

“Ah!” The receptionist broke the ice, sounding far chirpier now. “That’s good, you know each other, so sharing a room won’t be a problem,” she practically sang, and pulled out a bunch of card keys. “I’ll leave you to decide on the room allocations.”

“B-but!” spluttered Oomi. “We’re riv-”

“Excuse me,” she said, and hurriedly picked up the phone, pretending it had rung.

“’C’n we get to our rooms?” Atsumu moaned. “Only ‘Samu stinks like trash and needs a bath.”

“Fuck you, scrub,” Osamu replied, with not _much_ malice as he yawned. “I could do with some sleep, though.”

The wave of players parted like the red sea as the small figure pushed his way through. He glowered at the receptionist, who paid him no attention at all, then knitted his eyebrows even tighter and looked up at Coach Kurosu. “We arrived an hour ago and my boys are settled. One of my players has agreed to share, and it’s the room in the middle of the corridor, so any attempt at unsettling my team will be noted and recorded.” And slamming down a key card onto the desk, he turned on his (built up) heel and stalked back the way he’d come.

“Who is that?” whispered one of the first years.

“That,” Suna drawled, “is Coach Washijou from Shiratorizawa. We played them at the last Spring High. And won.” He smiled, flicking a glance at Ginjima. “Bagsy me not share with Ushiwaka!”

“Ohhhhh.” Atsumu’s eyes widened. “But what if it is him? This is co-ool.”

“What?” Aran demanded, hand ready to slap at any ridiculousness.

Atsumu gathered everyone into a huddle. “We-ell, if one of us is sharing with one o’ their guys, then it’s a really good opportunity to get under their skin.”

“I like it!” Suna agreed. “Could really put them off their game.”

“It won’t be Ushiwaka,” Osamu stated. “Like, why would they put their Ace in that situation? It’ll be a first year, someone unimportant.”

“But, but, but,” Ginjima’s eyes had started to crinkle at the sides, and Shinsuke’s insides stiffened in anticipation of whatever idiocy he was about to suggest. “Even if it’s a first year, then we could pump him for information.”

_Not that idiotic. Maybe he was learning._

“Akagi-san, you look sweet and innocent,” Atsumu said. “You could share and I bet the kid’ll be breaking down in seconds.”

Akagi pulled a face. “I’m no good at that crap. Besides, they’re not gonna put one of the first years alone with one of us – too risky.” He shrugged. “It’ll be that third year Setter. He’s smart enough to keep his mouth shut while listening to anything one of us let’s slip, which means we’ll need someone equally smart to share.” He looked straight at the Miya twins. “So neither of you guys.”

_Good point._

“Or,” someone whispered, “Maybe it’s someone so effortlessly cool, we could find out his style secrets.”

_Hmm, it’ll have to be  -_

“Huh?”

The huddle sprang apart, exposing a single figure, with bright red hair, drooping eyelids and the crookedest of crooked smiles. “Hi kids, Tendou Satori here, which one of you wants to room with the Guess Monster?”

_Me._

***

Considering he knew the Miya brothers, who were twin typhoons of chaos and destruction, and he shared a changing room with Ginjima, who was incapable of keeping his belongings together, Shinsuke didn’t think there was anything that could faze him about sharing a room with a not-quite-a-stranger, least of all one that had only arrived an hour previously.

What he hadn’t counted on was Tendou Satori’s unpacking ability.

Or rather lack of it.

He hadn’t brought at case with him. Whereas Shinsuke had a wheel along suitcase, strapped and locked, containing neatly folded shirts, rolled up socks and new packs of underwear, Tendou had a holdall, stuffed with his belongings.

And a plastic sack with what appeared to be odd socks and underpants.

And a smaller bag containing ‘snacks’.

And a bum-bag holding packets of opened sweets and gum he hadn’t yet discarded.

“Which bed is mine?” Shinsuke asked, his voice calm as he took in both beds – one close to the window and one closer to the bathroom, but both strewn with Tendou’s clothes.

“AH! Sorry ‘bout that ... uh ... Kita, is that right?”

“Yes it is.”

“Which one would you like? I haven’t chosen, this was jus’ me trying to find my lucky socks.” He grinned, flopped on the bed by the window and extended his feet, to reveal garish, mismatched stripes encasing his feet. “Great, don’t you think?”

“They have toes in them,” Shinsuke replied, hoping that was enough of an answer. He placed his case on the other bed, tried not to wince at the un-plumped pillow, and gathered up the hoodie - half on half off the headboard. “I shall have this bed.”

“Cool. Help yourself to drawers.”

“Pardon?”

“Take any of ‘em. I’ll be living out my bags.”

“Why?” The question erupted before he could stop it.

“Cuz I’ll only have to pack them up again.” He yawned, not bothering to cover his mouth, reached into a bag to pull out Jump, and started to read.

_I will not react._

Shinsuke unlocked his case, unlinked the straps, and began to unpack.

There was a black glove on the floor between him and the wardrobe.

_I will not react._

And a crisp packet hadn’t made it to the bin.

_I will not react._

He opened the wardrobe, preparing to hang up his shirts.

There was a suit there. Purple. And a strange bowtie hanging off the neck of the coat hanger.  Uneven. The left shoulder of the suit jacket had bunched up, and the trousers ...

The trousers.

_I will not react._

The purple trousers were not hung properly at all, but wrinkled across the frame. They were suit trousers, with a crease pressed into them, but the way to keep that crease, Shinsuke knew, was to fold them correctly (seams together) then loop them over a coat hanger –not a wire one – and to make sure each leg was even.

Or use a hanger clamp, but Shinsuke doubted Tendou or the hotel had ever seen one of them.

_I will not react._

_It is of no concern of mine if Tendou’s trousers have creases where they shouldn’t have. Or why he has a suit in the first place._

_In such a horrible colour._

_And ... ugh ..._ He couldn’t help touch them _... so shiny!_

But when he pulled at a wire coat hanger, his hand fingers fumbled and instead of cleanly releasing it from the wardrobe bar it tangled with the others, causing a _ching ching ching_ , and a clatter as he pulled and one of them dislodged.

“Gah, coat hangers. Bane of my life, I swear they breed,” Tendou said.

Shinsuke jumped. Tendou was standing right behind him, and so caught up with the recalcitrant coat hangers, he’d not heard or seen the guy move.

_Tch! I reacted!_

“Wanna hand?” Tendou offered.

“I’m fine. Really –” He shifted to his right, hoping to prevent Tendou from stretching out his arm, but the guy sidestepped to the left and crouched down to pick up the coat hanger nest.

“Bastard things,” he said and grinned. “Hey, what d’you think of my suit?”

“It’s purple.”

“More mulberry,” Tendou replied. “D’you reckon my hair can take the competition?”

“It will clash.”

“I prefer to think of it as making a statement,” Tendou said, laughing.  “You’re unpacking everything then?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Don’t see the point,” Tendou said and turned away. He strode back to his bed, landing with a heavy flump and wriggling up to his pillow.  His manga dropped on the floor, but he didn’t bother picking it up. “Only got to pack it all up again.”

“But ...”

Tendou’s eyelid twitched, waiting for the reaction.

_He gets off on this. Of course he does._

“You were saying, Kita-kun?”

He breathed in. _I am made up of the small things I do every day._ He breathed out. And smoothed his shirt as he hung it on the hanger. “I intend to be here for the entirety of the tournament, and not knocked out after our first match.”

“Why do you think I got my suit?” Tendou drawled. “Champions gotta look smart.”

***

“So things are okay?” Aran asked, his voice low, brimming with concern.

“Why do you ask?”

“You were late to dinner.”

“I was early. Three minutes.”

“Late for you, I meant. Usually you’re seven minutes early...” Aran trailed off, chewing on his lip. “Why is that? Why seven?”

_Ten minutes is close to thinking I got the time wrong, five minutes is when people start to appear, seven gives me two minutes to myself._

Three minutes was unfortunate. The time when everyone, bar the real stragglers, had gathered, and he couldn’t survey the way ahead without peeking over people’s shoulders.

“It’s a ... thing,” Shinsuke said, grateful Aran would need no further explanation.

“But you were late for you,” Aran persisted. “Look, if you want to swap, I can sleep in that room.”

“No. You’re too valuable, Aran-kun. Tendou-san is clearly up to something, and I am the one he can least disturb.”

“Well, you got that right.” Aran looked down the table, eyes zipping to the tureen in the centre. “Soup, good. Hope it’s clear.”

Shinsuke stared at his place setting; the napkin folded into a fan was askew. He tweaked it with his fingers, setting it right before unfurling to place on his lap.

All was good.

“Anyway, at least you’re not near the moron twins,” Aran muttered.

“There’s an issue?”

Of course there was an issue. There was always an issue, and the nervous tension of being here was only going to magnify their abrasive personalities.

“Osamu placed all his clothes in the top drawer.”

“Um ...”

“Saying it was because he could reach it easier.”

“Ah. And Atsumu lost it?”

“No, it was when Osamu was unpacking, he realised his hoodie had gone.”

“Was Atsumu wearing it?”

“Yup. And wouldn’t take it off.”

“And that was it.”

“No, he was slurping a juice, it went down the wrong way, and splattered the hoodie. It’s light grey, by the way.”

“And the juice was?”

“Redcurrant.”

“So ...” It can’t have been that bad, or he’d have been called At least he couldn’t see any cuts or bruises on their faces, although Atsumu’s hair looked -

Sticky.

And pink ...ish.

“The juice ended up in his hair, I’m guessing.”

“Yeah, and ‘Samu times it right so there wasn’t enough time for a shower – not if he wanted to be on time for dinner. He scrubbed at it with a towel, ‘Samu’s naturally, and then they both legged it down here. Suna and Gin in tow.”

“Suna took photos?”

“Of course.”

The twins were laughing, picking at the crackers on the table, no sign of animosity at all, and Shinsuke sent up a silent prayer that this had been a mere release of pressure, and it would calm down now.

***

The Shiratorizawa team entered the dining room half an hour after Inarizaki had begun, and all eyes slid their way. More specifically they slid to Ushijima – a top three Ace and part of the Japanese Youth team – intimidating to all who came across him.

Except –

“Hey, Ushiwaka!” Atsumu catcalled. “Long time no see. How’s it going?”

“It is going well,” Ushijima replied and slowed his pace. “Your hair has changed, Miya-kun.”

“Ah, yeah, suits me, amiright?”

“It is –” His face tilted to the side “-dyed.”

“Bwahhahhahahahah!” Tendou slunk forwards, leaning across Ginjima, and fluttered his attention from Atsumu to Osamu, laughter humming on his lips. “I c’n tell the difference now without having to check your hair parting.” He mimed putting the edge of his hand on the side of his hair, switching as he faced them, directing his now wide eyes solely on Osamu. “Why grey, though? Why not red, or some hints of pink like your brother. Is it cuz you don’t like standing out?”

Osamu said nothing, but even at the far end of the table, Shinsuke could feel the ripples of irritation.

“It’s fuckin’ trippy,” Tendou continued, and now the Shiratorizawa players had begun to shuffle closer. “You guys even blink in time. It’s like Buy One get One Free. So …which one’s the freebie?”

“Satori ...” The blond Setter spoke, not the regular, but the third year. Black tipped hair.

 _Semi Eita,_ Shinsuke thought. Pinch Server at Spring High, won their second match with his final serve.

“Aw, c’mon, Eita, these guys are ... _fas-cin-ating._ Shrine guardians or something.” And then he looked up, caught Shinsuke looking his way and bounded down the table. “ROOMIE! Hey, Semisemi, this guy Kita, remember him? You don’t? Well he didn’t play much last time –”

Aran was stiffening; Ren’s eyes had narrowed to barely perceptible slits and even Akagi’s smile had faltered. The twins and Ginjima glared at Tendou, the first years had huddled into themselves barely daring to move, but Suna was watching Shinsuke, assessment in his gaze.

“He’s Captain now! How d’you figure that?” Tendou practically crooned.

“Please ignore him,” Semi interrupted, and pulled on Tendou’s arm. “We’re sorry.”

“Huh? Huh? C’mon, I’m having some fun, and the question’s genuine. Like, how does a captain lead by example if he ain’t even playing?”

Shinsuke licked his lips, let the minutest of chuckles slip through his teeth, and said, very levelly, “Perhaps the example is that one point leads to another, that the team is the product of the small steps we take which will lead to victory.”

“Huh? What kind of weird ass strategy is that?”

“A well-thought out one,” Suna murmured, and switched his eyes onto Tendou. “Not a guess.”

“Aww, the kid’s got the old Middle Blocker attitude.”

“Satori, get your butt on the seat and eat your dinner!” yelled one of his teammates.

Black hair, shorter than the others. Libero. Yamagata Hayato.

“Good luck with your game guys,” Tendou chuckled, giving a backward wave. “I wanna beat you in the final, so make sure you get there, okay? See ya later, Kita-kun. Hope you don’t snore.”

“Moron!” Ren seethed.

“But manageable,” Shinsuke assured him.

He didn’t mention the mess in the room, the glove still on the floor and the bag of socks spilling over in a corner. Or that he’d not been able to rid himself of the impression that Tendou Satori’s idea of packing had been to gather up his clothes from the floor into a sack and hope they were clean, but there was no way he could inform his team of this because someone – probably all of them – would volunteer to swap.

And he didn’t mention that Tendou was right. He didn’t lead from the front, and did not roar his inspiration on court. But Shinsuke was still their Captain and he knew his place was to protect, to bolster up, and not let anything – or anyone – affect his team.

***

The only good thing that could be said about that first night was that Shinsuke had had the foresight to pack earplugs. He’d brought them because at one point he’d realised he’d probably have to share with one of the twins. It was all well and good them sharing a room at home and living in each other’s pockets (or hoodies, perhaps) but away with the team, if the team were to get the required rest, then the Miyas would have to be split. Occasionally they’d managed two nights together, usually it was one, and on one fated occasion, they’d had to be split after half a night, Aran hauling Osamu in with him, while Shinsuke drew the minutely shorter straw of bedding in with Atsumu.

So earplugs – several pairs – were in the front pocket of the case. And he needed them.

Tendou didn’t snore, but he did play music, and even though he assured Shinsuke his headphones were the best in noise-cancelling technology, they did not stop the ‘tzing tzing’ tinny music carrying across to Shinsuke.

“It’s how I get to sleep,” he explained. “Won’t bother you, will it?”

Earplugs were a necessity.

But it hadn’t ended there.

 “I know this sounds kinda dumb,” Tendou mumbled, staring at his hands. “But I’m sorta scared of the ... uh ... dark.”

“Nightlight,” Shinsuke replied, reaching into his case because one ever knew if Ren had forgotten his. “This is purple and ionises the air.”

It could be plugged in, discreet at the side of the bed, not spreading its light across the whole of the room.

“Huh?”

Tendou had held it between his hands, watching as the mood-light shifted through various shades of purple. “Kinda freaky. Think it’d give me more nightmares. I prefer the blind open. All the way. Otherwise I’ll be up and down all night, screamin’ and stuff.” He paused, and peered at Shinsuke through his lashes. “You could always face the wall, couldn’t you?”

_I won’t react._

“Blind open it is, Tendou-kun,” he replied, and with immense calm brought out his eye mask.

He lay down, eye mask intact, ear plugs inserted and drilled himself to sleep, the way his granny had taught him.

A hand shook his arm, just as he was dropping off.

“Kita-kun. Kita-kun!” his voice penetrated through the plugs.

“Is there a problem, Tendou?” Shinsuke asked, not moving.

“I need another pillow. C’n I have one of yours?”

“Just one?”

“Oh, yeah, one is fine. I need something to but over my eyes, cause the neon outside is flashing now.”

“Close the blind then,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

“Well, I could, but then I’ll wake up screaming when –”

“Use a scarf as a blindfold,” Shinsuke interrupted.

“A blindfold. That’s like really dangerous, Kita-san. I could strangle myself with a scarf.”

_And that would be a bad thing?_

_Yes, it would, Shin-chan!_

_Sorry, Granny._

“There are spare pillows in the wardrobe,” he replied. “Goodnight.”

***

He did not have the best of night’s sleep. Tendou was restless, the sounds and movements as he writhed in his bed, penetrated through all Kita’s defences, but he still woke in the morning with the knowledge that it could have been worse.

Worse because even if Tendou had been noisy, and the glare of the street outside had seeped through the edges of his mask, it was still not as bad as the time he’d had to share with Osamu, who’d didn’t so much as sleepwalk, but pace his room when agitated.

(According to Aran, Atsumu did the same thing, and they’d both chuckled at the thought of the twins doing this at the same time and wondering if they walked into each other.)

Also, when he woke, Tendou’s bed was empty. The bathroom was free and the shorts that had been on the floor, half under his bed, had gone, as had the tee on top of his holdall and the sneakers he’d left by the door. (It had somewhat heartened Shinsuke to know that Tendou had placed his footwear in an orderly manner.)

The conclusion was obvious. In order to avoid the burning heat of the day, Tendou Satori had gone for a jog. And as Shinsuke hadn’t heard the rest of the team move (and he was sure he would have done) he’d more than likely gone alone.

 _In which case, I am allowed another_ ... he considered ... _thirty-six minutes sleep before I need to get up._

Except he couldn’t sleep now he was awake. And the reality of the room hit him again. It was a mess. Half of it littered with gloves and socks (Gloves? It’s AUGUST!) And he wondered about rights of room sharers.

_If I only touch the things in plain sight then that’s not an intrusion into personal space._

He started with the socks, wondering again why someone had brought so many for barely a week’s stay, especially in August. Pairing the ones that could be paired, he placed them in one of the drawers, to the left side, then continued with the underwear, and finally the one glove.

The tee shirts Tendou had dumped on the end of his bed, he folded, smoothing the creases as well as he could, and piled them on the wooden chair by the mirror. He tweaked the coverlet on Tendou’s bed, resisted the urge to reorganise his pillows, and headed to the bathroom, satisfied he’d made a start.

He was stepping out of the shower when he heard his roommate return.

“SHEESH! The maids in this hotel are eager! Unless ... KITA!”

He wrapped a towel around his waist. “What is the matter?”

“I can’t find any of my stuff. Has a sock thief been in while you’ve been preening yourself?”

“They’re in the drawer,” he explained patiently as he wound another towel around his hair.

“Huh?”

_Okay, let’s face him._

Opening the bathroom door, Shinsuke made sure he assumed a respectful pose, and inclined his head. “I put some things away. Your tee shirts are over there.”

“You shouldn’t have.” Tendou’s eyes, even in the dim light of morning glistened.

Oh ... yes, what had he been thinking? Tendou didn’t know him. While his routine and foibles were an accepted part of him to all at Inarizaki, his twitching tidy fingers must be anathema to Tendou.

“I apologise.” He set his hands to the prayer position.  “I should not have taken this upon myself and can only say that it is entirely my fault because –“”

“Nah, I meant, you shouldn’t have in that nice kinda way. You really shouldn’t have but I’m pleased.” He grinned, leant closer, hands on hips, and then gave Shinsuke a wink. “You’ll make a wonderful wife one day. Or husband. Spouse – that’s what I mean. Life partner, parent, housekeeper... ah what the hell. Thank you, Kita-kun.”

With a semi-flinch at Tendou’s enthusiasm (and his sudden closeness) Shinsuke stepped back into the bathroom. “Excuse me.”

***

As a seeded team, Inarizaki had the first day free from competition. They’d all be required for practise, and it was strongly advised to go along and watch a match, to see first-hand whichever team they’d be facing the following day. Shinsuke liked soaking up the atmosphere of that first day. It was stress free, and a day when everyone was hopeful, everyone had a chance, and no negativity had impressed its aura on the stadium.

They could also sightsee if they wished.

At breakfast this was discussed at some length. Both Coaches were of the opinion that as long as they remained together, the team could do what they wanted. But knowing there would be no consensus, Shinsuke negotiated subsets.

“If we split in the main stadium, then there’s more chance of someone catching future opponents.”

“Don’t mind,” Atsumu yawned. “But I’d like to see Shiratorizawa.”

“We’re not in their half of the draw,” Shinsuke replied.

“Might face them in the final,” Osamu countered.

The fact they were in agreement should have alerted Shinsuke, especially when Suna said he’d like to see them too. Indeed something flared inside of him, but just at that moment one of the first years arrived late to breakfast tripped over his lace and plunged headlong into a trolley upsetting the china.

And on such small deviances are fortunes made or unmade. The first year, Riseki, cut his hand, the china embedded deep and Shinsuke allocated himself to go to the hospital with him.

A tear leaked from his eye. “I won’t get to play now, will I?”

It had been unlikely he’d have got a game anyway, but Shinsuke saw no merit in telling him that. Instead he placed a hand on his shoulder. “We each play a part, however small.”

 

Shiratorizawa steamed through their first round opponents and Tendou was in tearing spirits when he returned to the hotel.

He’d torn through his room – their room – his kitbag now emptied on the floor, while he sang loudly from the bathroom, and sprayed himself with something noxious.

“Good day, Kita-san?”

“Busy,” he replied, refusing to elaborate. Tendou did not need to know that he’d spent the morning with his kouhai and arrived too late to see the outcome that had decided their second round opposition. He’d settled for watching Fukurodani instead, and wondering if he’d handle Bokuto Koutarou any differently than their Setter did.

(Probably not, but he could only imagine the frustration Akaashi-kun must feel, and how admirable it was he never let it show. A clear head.)

“See any sights?”

Did the inside of the emergency department count?

“Not today.”

Tendou bounded out of the bathroom, rubbing at his hair with a towel, and gyrating his towel-clad hips in sync with his song as he rummaged through the drawer to pull out a pair of pants.

Which he dropped on the floor as he continued to look.

“There’s a p –”

_No, don’t react._

“Lucky pants, come to meeeeeee,” Tendou sang, and picked out some bright red ones.

“What?”

With his back to Shinsuke, he started to put them on, jiggling his hips. The towel slipped just as Tendou smoothed them over his ass, and then he cocked a look over his shoulder, giving Shinsuke a wink. “Gotta look my best, eh, Kita-san.”

_I will not react._

Except he had. And even though he’d only watched for an infinitesimally short time (barely a blink, he assured himself) the hypnotic reverse striptease had shaken him out of his equilibrium. With studied calm, he picked up a book.

Tendou moved to select a shirt, upending the neat pile Shinsuke had made earlier (not that he was looking, but there had been this slight movement in the periphery of his vision!) “Green?”

“Pardon?”

“Or blue? Do you like blue, Kita-san?” he asked holding up two shirts.

They were plain, with no graphic or statement, and for a moment Shinsuke wondered if they were actually Tendou’s or if he’d stolen them.

“Why are you asking me?”

“Eh?” Tendou wrinkled his nose. “ Just after an opinion, that’s all. We’re not eating here tonight. Coach Washijou said he’d booked the noodle bar up the road.”  He put down the green shirt, apparently deciding on the blue. “Between you and me, I think he’s worried at some of the more ... uh ... unruly elements in your team windin’ up some of our kids.”

“What?”

“Like those twins o’ yours. Don’t get me wrong, I love ‘em, but they’re kinda out there, right?”

“They are,” he agreed, on surer ground now that Tendou was reaching for his black jeans.

(Ripped at the knee. Was that in the design or had they worn through?)

“But then, you must have travelled a similar distance.” He waited for the burn to activate, watched the twitch of Tendou’s eyelid, and then finished, “I think the green is better with those jeans, by the way.”

“Huh? Really?” He twisted to face the mirror, holding up one shirt then the other. “Eita said blue... but then have you seen his wardrobe?” He pulled a face. “No style at aaall!”

 

Without Shiratorizawa in the dining room, the Inarizaki meal passed without incident.

Well, not much incident. Riseki had the piss taken out of him when his bandaged hand made it harder to eat with chopsticks and he was given a spoon. Atsumu spilled milk down his shirt – which turned out to be Osamu’s – and Suna kept the rest of them entertained with his gallery of pictures from the day. Aran was stolidly eating his way through a plate of beef, and chatting to Ren, while Shinsuke sat with the first years, calming any nerves about the next day’s match.

They passed some time together in a communal lounge, talking tactics, watching a DVD and swapping stories of the matches they’d seen.

“Ushiwaka’s the power at Shiratorizawa. Stop him and you stop the team,” Atsumu noted.

“Tell us something we don’t know,” Aran growled, edgier because they were focusing on him not just as an Ace, but one in the top three.

“Their Middle Blocker...” Osamu said, and exchanged glances with Atsumu.

 “Tendou reads tosses well,” Atsumu agreed, then smiled at his twin. “But what if he ain’t sure who the Setter’s gonna be.”

“Inverse!” Osamu smiled back. “I like it.”

“Not easy to intimidate,” Atsumu added.

“He’ll lap anything up the cheer squad throw at him,” Osamu said nodding. “It’s like he gets off on provocation.”

_Well, you should know._

“Hey, morons. You’re getting too ahead of yourselves!” Aran barked. “Remember what happened at last Spring High. You focused on the semi, and hadn’t even won the quarter!”

 _Which we still won,_ Shinsuke thought, but Aran had a point. These kids didn’t learn from mistakes.

“Huh?” The twins turned to face him, identical expressions of incomprehension.

“We don’t-” Atsumu began.

“Need memories,” Osamu finished.

Shinsuke splayed his palms on the table, starting levelly at them and the chuckles of laughter in their throats died before they could erupt.

It was the only blip of the meeting and they left for their rooms a short while later, determined and focused.

 

Tendou’s underpants were still on the floor, and he hadn’t closed the drawer properly, leaving a stripy sock hanging. A stream of tape had been dumped into the bin, or at least an attempt had been made, but Tendou had clearly missed with his throw and it had stuck to the side.  The blue shirt he’d discarded in favour of the green was draped over the back of the chair, and a book was open, face down on the bed.

Shinsuke ignored the book, despite glowering at the thought of its breaking spine, but poked the sock back in the drawer, and straightened out the shirt so it didn’t wrinkle along the middle. The tape jarred him, so he unstuck it, squished it into a ball and dropped it back into the bin, pausing as he held it in his hands. _Why?_   He dismissed the thought as soon as it occurred to him. He didn’t need to know. It did not affect him in the slightest. On the edge of the bed, he spied a small card and tutted irritably. Tendou had forgotten his key, so he’d have to wait up. With nothing for it but to stay awake, Shinsuke sat up in his bed reading through a sheaf of notes the squad had made about the games.

Osamu had done the writing. Not only did Shinsuke recognise his style, but there were small doodles in the margins, first of the four of them (his caricature of Ginjima wincing was spot on) and then the Shiratorizawa team. Tendou featured prominently – not just in the notes but in the pictures, Osamu exaggerating his hair and his fingers so they were longer than his arms, adding springs to his heels.

 _‘Scrub!’_  Someone else had added, with an arrow pointing at him. Atsumu, likely.

Shinsuke stifled a yawn, flipped over the page to find the next game in Suna’s hand, who’d mentioned Atsumu’s observations. So, even if the twins had been more vocal about their hotel buddies, it hadn’t meant they weren’t paying attention to the others.

A series of doors opened and closed, which meant the Shiratorizawa players were back. Shinsuke heard one of them (he didn’t think it was Ushijima, so probably Reon) boom that everyone needed a good night’s sleep. Tendou did not immediately rap on the door. There was a low hubbub of voices in the corridor, someone was chuckling, someone was saying ‘shhhh’ very loudly, and a cooler voice, as clear as day, said. ‘Satori, bed. Big day tomorrow.’

“Aw, can’t I hang with you guys for a while?”

“No, I’m tired, you asshole. Go to bed.”

“Anyone would think you didn’t want me around?” Tendou said plaintively.

“We don’t.”

_That’s Semi._

“Why do you think you were left with the odd room, Satori?” Yamagata rasped. “You might not need sleep, but the rest of us do.”

“I won’t keep you up for long.”

“No. Bed.”

A slam of doors, a series of raps and a further, ‘GO TO BED’ from Semi and Yamagata. Then Tendou, finally taking the hint, started to whistle as he wandered back down the corridor and towards his room.

And then the ruckus started.

“YOU FUCKING PIECE OF TRASH!”

“You HEAP OF SHIT!”

“Hey hey, guys!” Tendou called. “What gives?”

What sounded like a door crashing open, caused the corridor to vibrate. Now fully alert, Shinsuke jumped from his bed, and ran into the corridor. As he’d thought the twins were arguing. Not just a row, this had become physical (It was their second night, so not surprising really as they’d spent all their time together). The Inarizaki squad were used to it, most didn’t even bother getting out of bed to see what was happening, but Shinsuke could hear the rattle of doors from the other rooms.  He strode up the corridor, not caring he was wearing pyjamas, ready to restrain either one of them, preparing to sort out who would swap with who and –

“Get back in your room,” Shinsuke ordered, not getting too close … yet.

Not while they were still in white hot rage, red mist mode, where fists would fly.

“Jeez, you guys are something else. Whatever happened to brotherly love?” Tendou laughed. He approached them, a wide grin on his face.

_Oh no, don’t smile._

 “KEEP OUT OF THIS! You ...Fuck Monster!” Atsumu yelled. He was on top of his brother now, holding the front of Osamu’s shirt, while Osamu pushed the palm of his hand in Atsumu’s face.

“ATSUMU!” Aran had arrived. “Stop this!”

“HE STARTED IT!”

“Yeah, but he can’t get his insults out if you throttle him,” Tendou said. He turned back, noticed some doors opening. “Nothin’ to see, nothin’ to see, guys. Reckon these scrubs are just putting on a show to distract us.”

“SCRUBS!”

They stopped, momentarily forgetting their feud.

“Heard you in the game, boys. Was kinda fun.”

And still he kept walking, now coming up behind Shinsuke, passed Aran, who was glaring down the corridor.

“But,” Tendou whispered, bending over and ruffling Atsumu’s hair. “You gotta do a lot better than a few snide shots to rile me, Trash Twins.”

That did it. That ended the argument. As Atsumu released Osamu, the pair of them got to their feet.

“You call my brother trash!” Atsumu hissed, his eyebrows meeting in the middle.

“You said my brother was a scrub?” Osamu demanded.

“Ah, see, you guys love each other rea – AGHHH!”

Twin fists flew at him, and although his reflexes were good, there were only two ways to dodge. Possibly he hadn’t thought about repercussions of winding up the Miya twins. Possibly he never thought at all, but relied on instinct in everything. Whatever, the truth of it was as Osamu’s fist headed his way a split second before Atsumu’s, Tendou could not evade both and settled for Atsumu’s landing on his nose.

“AGHHH!”

 “Get in there now!” Aran ordered, booting his slippered foot into Osamu’s arse. “If I hear anything more from you, I’ll kick you all the way back home myself.”

Shinsuke whipped round to Atsumu, now standing with his hands over his face. “Swap with Oomimi!”

Ren had arrived, carrying his wash bag and nightlight, grimly aware of his fate as Osamu’s new roommate.

“Hey, I’m bleeding,” Tendou said, examining the blood on his hand as he touched his nose.

“And we’re in a fuckload of trouble!” Aran muttered in undertone to Shinsuke.

Shinsuke inhaled, instant assessment on his lips. Damage limitation if at all possible was necessary now. “Where are the Coaches?”

“In the bar,” Ren replied. “But they won’t be able to let this slide. They’ve taken out a player from another team.”

“Technically, I missed!” Osamu called out.

“Yeah, your aim is shit, ‘Samu.”

“SHUT UP!” the three third years yelled.

“What is happening?” At the far end of the corridor, blocking the light, Ushijima Wakatoshi in purple pyjamas and a matching silky robe, strode towards them. “Kita-san, your team are unruly.”

“Hey, Wakatoshi,” Tendou waved feebly. “Nice robe. Wouldna thought you’d need one in summer.”

“Satori. You’re bleeding.”

“Yeah ... funny that. Sorta happens when you run into things.”

Shinsuke heard Aran’s clutch of breath, and saw Ren stiffen. His own eyes he was sure were wide, Atsumu had frozen, while Osamu peered through a gap in the door.

“What did you run into? And why are you out of bed?” Ushijima demanded.

“Ah, the floor,” Tendou explained. “I kinda tripped.”

“But why are you up this end of the corridor?”

“Good point,” Tendou mumbled.

“Looking for me,” Shinsuke replied, and met Ushijima’s gaze. “Tendou forgot his key, and we were having a final team talk.” He added a bow. “Sorry to have disturbed you, Ushijima-san. Good luck for tomorrow.”

As Ushijima walked away, a collective sigh of relief from the six of them vibrated through the air.

“Why did you do that?” Aran demanded of Tendou.

He shrugged. “Do what?”

“You can report them, you know,” Shinsuke said, ignoring Osamu’s strangled gasp and Atsumu’s whimper. “We will take the consequences.”

“Yeah, I bet you would,” Tendou muttered. He straightened up, then with a cocked grin, whispered, “I’ll settle for your undying gratitude.”

“Sorry?”

“Put it this way, the Scrub Brothers now have a common enemy and might stop beating shit out of each other.” He laughed darkly, and dabbed his nose again. “Any more noise, though, Trash Twins, and I’ll get you kicked out. Got that?”

 

When he got back, after assuring both Miyas that he would have no compunction in reporting them to the Coaches if they didn’t pull themselves together, Tendou was in the bathroom, bending over the sink. His nose was still bleeding, a steady drip, which he was trying to staunch the flow by stuffing each nostril with toilet tissue.

“I brought you some ice,” Shinsuke murmured, and held out a plastic cup.

“I’m good, thanks.”

“If you don’t mind me saying, Tendou-kun.”

“When anyone starts a sentence like that, I know I probably will mind,” he sighed, “but what the hell, go ahead!”

“Plugging your nose isn’t the best thing to do for nosebleeds. When you remove the paper, it will tear open the scar again,” Shinsuke said, all the while his deft fingers making an icepack with his handkerchief. He handed it over. “Place this on the bridge of your nose.”

“Thanks.”

“And pinch it.”

“Yeah, that kinda hurts.” He dabbed his face, staring gloomily in the mirror. “Guess I’ll have to cancel the photo shoot.”

“Pardon.”

“Japan’s next top model. I’m a shoo-in,” Tendou cracked. “Or I was. Maybe I can sue those doofus twins for loss of future earnings.” He glanced at Shinsuke. “I’m kidding.”

“I know.”

“You look kinda ... lost, Kita-kun.”

“I’m primarily annoyed with myself for not foreseeing the situation. I know how volatile they can be and ...”

_If I’d not been at the hospital with Riseki, I would have ensured I was with them this afternoon._

“You’d have taken the blame like a good Captain, right?”

“I am responsible.”

“You think Wakatoshi would take the blame if _I’d_ punched one of them?”

“Uh –”

“No he fuckin’ wouldn’t. And I wouldn’t have let him.” He removed the ice pack, stared into the mirror, sniffed tentatively, then wandered back into the room sitting on the edge of his bed.

“Ushijima is an excellent player,” Shinsuke said wryly.

“You mean we don’t win games without him?” Tendou queried, affecting hurt, then he clicked his tongue. “Guess you’re right. Wakatoshi’s kinda phenomenal. It’s amazing being on a team with him. But look, I doubt those brats would have let you take the blame.”

“They should not have hit you.”

“Maybe I deserved it.” He crooked a smile. “I was windin’ them up, you know that, Kita-san. Bit of cold revenge, ‘cuz they kept barracking me at the match today.”

“Did they?”

_Yes, of course they did. Why are you even asking, Shin-chan?_

“Uh-huh. Not sure what good it did them. I was _mag_ -nificent today,” Tendou replied, and threw his head back, then winced. “Fuck, that hurts.”

“Keep still.” Shinsuke pulled a chair in front of him, their knees touching, and very gently wiped at some of the blood on Tendou’s cheeks. “Apply pressure with the ice pack for a little longer. It will help.”

“You’re a good nurse,” he sighed. “Sorry.”

“What for?”

“Annoying your boys.”

“Hmm, you did us a favour. They’re both mortified at the thought of being expelled in disgrace that they’ll calm down now.”

_I hope._

“And just so you know, Tendou-kun, they reported back that you would be impervious to our Cheer Squad. Actually the exact words were that you get off on provocation.”

“’Bout right,” Tendou muttered. “I’m used to it. No one likes me, so I just rile ‘em back, else I’m sunk.” He wriggled back on his bed. “Gah, I’m tired now, ready to drop.

“Wait!” Getting up, Shinsuke reached under his bed pulling out a green canvas bag containing his first aid kit.  “Painkillers. Also pillows, you’ll need extra to prop you up,” Shinsuke explained, and grabbed two more from the wardrobe, plus a towel from the bathroom. “Lay this over the top in case your nose starts bleeding again.”

Tendou leant forwards as Shinsuke positioned the pillows.  “You’re well prepared, ain’t you?” he said, no teasing in his voice, just weariness now. 

“It’s my job,” Shinsuke replied.

“Pretty much indispensible, I’d say,” Tendou said. He lay back, then ran his fingers through his hair, tugging his fingers through the tangles as he stared up at Shinsuke. “No wonder your team a- _dore_ you.”

 _Russet brown eyes with a hint of green, like the first leaves turning in autumn,_ Shinsuke thought, and blinked, wondering why that had even occurred to him.

 


	2. Mere Mortals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So ... remember that chapter when Kita talked about the concept of genius ...

No games were easy at National competitions they were continually told. Each team had qualified by beating the others in their region. Each team had an equal chance.

Before the first play.

Inarizaki wiped out their opposition in two sets (25-15, 25-10) and returned in determined mood. Now the competition had started, and they had a victory under their belt, the tensions between the individuals were forgotten. Not that Shinsuke was going to risk letting Atsumu and Osamu share again, especially not when they glowered whenever Tendou appeared, but he did take pity on Ren and Aran, deciding that the load could be shared, and nudged Suna and Ginjima to take their turn.

Apparently a deal had been reached with Shiratorizawa, for the night after their first match, it was Inarizaki who ate out in the back room of the noodle bar, and had their team talk shortly after.

Focus was good. There’d been no particular upsets on Day One and Two, which meant the strongest teams, really were the strongest teams, and they could plan accordingly.

Tendou was sitting up in bed when Shinsuke got back. Kitbag dumped in a corner, he had at least attempted to stack his shirts properly. Tape peeled from his fingers again curled around the lid of the bin. His bedside light was on, rather than the main one, and the blind was open, but he wasn’t listening to music, instead engrossed in manga.

“You had a good win,” he muttered, not looking up from his page.

“And you.”

“Yeah, went to three sets, but we wiped ‘em out in the last.” He turned a page. “Did you get on court?”

“Wasn’t necessary.”

“It don’t bother you?”

“Should it?”

Tendou half shrugged, but he put his manga down. “It pisses some players off being on the sidelines.”

“I am not that sort of player.”

Sitting further forward, Tendou brought his knees to his chest. “You know,” he began, “I don’t think I know in the slightest what sort of player you are, Kita-kun.”

“Ordinary, I assure you.”

“The Captain of Inarizaki can _not_ be ordinary.” He chewed the side of his mouth, considering. “Bet you’re injured and that’s why you carry all that medical equipment.”

Shinsuke said nothing. It was an assumption many teams had made, more since he’d been appointed captain, and he never quite knew what to say. He could tell the truth, that he’d never carried a significant injury (not one that would see him out of a game) but he had a feeling Tendou wouldn’t believe him.

“How was _your_ game, Tendou-san?” he asked instead.

And Tendou knew it was a change of subject, for he let out the smallest of sighs, but he played along and unwrapped himself, stretching out his legs, so his feet splayed on the pillow. “I was ...” he waggled his eyebrows, “ _Maaaag_ -nificent. Again.”

“And your nose? Is it still ...”

“Meh, it’s fine. Look, I once made the mistake of turning around when Wakatoshi was serving, and got the ball smack in the centre of my face. Coma for three days.”

“Really?”

He chuckled. “Nah, got one to the back of my head and thought it had come off, but apart from a twenty four hour headache, I was cool.”

“Twenty-four _hours_!”

“Maybe the rest of the evening.” Tendou yawned, belatedly remembering to cover his mouth. “Sheesh, I’m more tired than I thought.” Rolling over to his back, he yawned again and closed his eyes.

“You’d be more comfortable propped up,” Shinsuke warned.

“Nah, I’m good. Just resting my eyes.”

If this had been Aran or Ren, he’d have persuaded; either Miya twin and he’d have insisted, but Tendou Satori was not a member of his own team, and presumably knew his own mind. If he wanted to lie upside down in his bed, and not gain the benefits of a properly positioned pillow, then it hardly behoved Shinsuke to correct him.

Tendou was dead to the world when Shinsuke emerged from the bathroom, so he trod softly across the floor, folding rather than scrunching up the rubbish for the bin. He bent down and pulled at the tape stuck to the bin rim, wrapping it into another compact ball. Tendou’s hands were by his sides, fingers outstretched as if in play, and although he didn’t mean to scrutinise, a flash of neon from outside illuminated a slight grey line across two joints where the adhesive had been.

As Tendou was asleep, and could hardly object, Shinsuke reached across to the blind cords and pulled. The light from outside still flickered through the slats, but it was muted, and when Shinsuke put on his eye mask, he was dropped into darkness.

He slept.

Until three.

“NOT THAT WAY!”

_Hmm?_

NOOOOOOO.

_Huh?_

“WATCH OUUUUUUUUT!”

The warning electrified the room. Danger was slamming into him, but before he’d had time to fully come to his senses, Shinsuke was crushed under the weight of a falling tree.

He should have got out of the way. Now he was unable to move, trapped by a bough and a -

Tree?  Why would there be a tree in his room?

Shinsuke raised his hands, shoved hard against the trunk currently pressed against his chest, heard it thunk against the wall, then finally removed his mask.

Tendou’s eyes were wide, unflickering, his mouth agape as if in shock.

Or dead.

Maybe he was dead? Maybe Shinsuke’s shove had caused this catatonia and that was why he was now rigid on Shinsuke’s bed, flat on his back staring up at the ceiling.

“Tendou-kun,” he murmured, and gave his shoulder a poke.

“Shhhhhhh.”

“Pardon?”

“Has Coach seen me yet?”

“Tendou?” Befuddled, he poked him again.

“If I stay here he can’t yell,” Tendou hissed. His eyelids began to twitch, half closing as he side-eyed Shinsuke, “I fucked that one up, didn’t I, SemiSemi?”

_The Coach? What is he talking about? What has he –_

“Have we lost? I can’t see the scoreboard.”

_Oh._

“Tendou-san,” he tried again, this time shaking his shoulder.

Tendou blinked, and now his legs were curling up to his chest.  “What’s happening?” he whispered conspiratorially. “Why is it dark? Have the floodlights given out?”

When Osamu had paced, Shinsuke had let him wander before steering him back to bed. The next morning Aran had said he’d been sorely tempted to stick his leg out and trip Atsumu, but instead he’d nudged him awake, listened as he rambled for a half hour about serves, then rolled over with his earplugs and got back to sleep.

But this was Tendou Satori not pacing a room, but on Shinsuke’s bed and not staying still or quiet, but rolled up and snickering. “I’ll get the next one, Wakatoshi.”

“Tendou-san,” he muttered, and slipped his hand under his shoulder blade. “Get back into position.”

“Huh?”

“Game on,” Shinsuke whispered, and levered him to sitting, huffing a little at the deadweight.

Tendou was remarkably compliant, flopping his head into Shinsuke’s shoulder, and allowing himself to be partly dragged back to his bed.

“Odd court,” he mumbled sitting on the edge of his bed. “Dark.”

With a sigh, Shinsuke twiddled the blind cords, letting the street light flood onto Tendou’s bed.

“That better?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m gonna knock the next one down,” Tendou replied, stretching out his arms before collapsing back, his head on the pillows this time rather than his feet.

Repositioning the eye mask, wincing a little when a glimmer of green seeped under the seam, Shinsuke settled back to sleep. He breathed through his nose, held his breath for ten, then exhaled, repeating until his heart rate had slowed to the required resting beat. Tendou was snuffling out the odd nonsensical word, then slid into silence.

 

“You have bags under your eyes,” Aran muttered the next morning.

 “So do you,” Shinsuke replied, and frowned. “Aran, you’re an important part of this team and a good night’s sleep is essential. I have rescue remedy if you need to take some drops.”

“Neatly deflecting away from my point,” Aran sighed. “I’m good, Shinsuke, but if that red haired bastard is making nights a pain in the ass for you then – ” His fist hit his palm. “I still think that’s part of their plan, y’know?”

“On the contrary,” Shinsuke soothed. “Sharing with Tendou-san has proved to be illuminating and it’s kept my mind occupied.” He smiled slightly down the table at the Hoshiki still using a spoon, but talking animatedly to Ginjima, and at both Miyas, who along with Suna were piling their plates with food and sharing jokes.  “They look ...” Peaceful wasn’t the word, nor was hungry, and yet there was something of that about the team.  “Ready.”

“We all are,” Ren put in from the other side, then shovelled more rice into his mouth.

Shiratorizawa were wandering into the breakfast room in dribs and drabs, some yawning, some (Well, Tendou) bouncing. Ushijima sat with his back to the wall surveying them all, his face hewn from marble, until he spied Shinsuke watching him.

He inclined his head, the gesture so small, Shinsuke wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t imagined it.

 _Maybe he’s forgotten who I am?_   _Or,_ he considered, _am I beneath his notice?_

Their second match went to three sets, but they’d won easily enough. The second set was lost largely down to Atsumu’s hissy fit when some girls in the crowd started cheering for him. Then the cheer squad had started on the girls, and Atsumu’s concentration had been shot to fuck (as Osamu put it, laughing). The slanging match on court had only been remedied by Shinsuke coming on to steady the ship, pulling off Ginjima, who’d become reckless when trying to regain the points. Sucking up the loss of the second set, it had been worth it to see Atsumu’s renewed concentration and series of aces, followed by Osamu’s sweeter than sweet spike bringing home the match.

Inarizaki returned to their hotel after a session in the gym (fifty practise serves a piece). They were hungry and tired, but there was a sense of thirst and knowing that tomorrow would be harder, but it was a challenge they could all climb.

“You won,” Tendou said when Shinsuke let himself into their room.

“We did.”

“And you played a little birdie told me.”

“I did.” He lowered his kitbag to the floor and pulled out the dirty socks to leave in his laundry bag. “Who told you?”

“Not so much a little birdie as a big eagle,” Tendou informed him. He pulled off his shirt, throwing it in the corner of the room and sauntered into the bathroom.

“Pardon?”

He poked his head around the door. “Wakatoshi watched some of your match. Not sure he meant to, but he went on ahead of the rest of us, and –” He shrugged. “He finds your twins … perturbing.”

“Perturbing?”

“His word. But it solved a puzzle in his head, so it’s all good.”

“What puzzle is that?”

“Your role. Like I told him you were a regular Mr Fix-It, but he had to see it for himself.” Closing the door, Tendou began his tuneless whistle and then the sound of the shower thrummed, and his whistle became a song.

Closing the drawers, poking socks back into place, picking up the scraps of paper on the floor and the one damn glove that always managed to find its way on the carpet, Shinsuke busied himself with minutiae. The bin was empty apart from the ubiquitous tape, which this time had made it to the bottom.

“It’s Qu-qu-quarterfinaaaals,” Tendou proclaimed from the shower. “And we’re gonna wiiiiiiiin!”

The knock at the door pulled Shinsuke out of his tidying. Answering, he wasn’t altogether surprised to see Semi Eita there.

“Apologies,” Semi inclined his head. “I need to chivvy up our Guess Monster. We’re about to leave.”

“He’s in shower.”

“Ah.” Semi glanced down the corridor, calling out, “You go on. We’ll catch you up.” Then he turned back to Shinsuke. “Sorry to have bothered you. Could you tell Tendou that I’m waiting for him?”

“You can wait in here,” Shinsuke said, standing to the side.

“QU-QU-QUARTER FINAAAAAAALS” Tendou screeched.

“Maybe we should both find somewhere else to sit,” Semi joked. Then he coughed. “Actually, I thought I’d get some water and ice, so do you want to come along?”

“QU-QU-QUARTER –”

“Thank you, yes,” Shinsuke said hurriedly and grabbed his key and wallet.

“Satori!” Semi banged on the bathroom door. “We’re off to dinner. I’ll be at the soda machine. Five minutes, all right?”

“Sure thing, Semisemi. Just makin’ myself beautiful now. Although, how can one improve on perfection?”

“I don’t think any of us have thanked you,” Semi murmured as they meandered to the end of the corridor. “Or apologised.”

Shinsuke placed a cup under the dispenser, waiting for the schrucka schrucka of the crunching ice. “I’m curious as to why you think you owe me either.”

“Perhaps we should have warned you about the sleepwalking,” Semi continued. “I … uh … heard him last night. Playing a match, I’m guessing.”

“Possibly my fault. He did warn me about keeping the blinds open.”

Semi arched one eyebrow. Close up, he reminded Shinsuke of a beautiful bird, one at home in the mountains or gliding across a crystal clear lake. “Oh, you can ignore that.  He was no doubt hoping to disconcert you, or whoever was going to share with him.”

“I see.” He pursed his lips. “Whose idea was it that Tendou would be the one to share?”

“No one actually wants to share with Tendou. And I say this as a friend, but this is a tournament and he gets wired. Look, he always has a room to himself.  The hotel being overbooked was a coincidence.”  Helping himself to water, Semi took a long sip, smacking his lips together. “Still, even if that was not our fault, it might have been nice if we’d warned you, but then you seem to be coping, Kita-san.”

Shinsuke smiled, a small twitch of the corners of his mouth. “I’ve had plenty of practise.”

“Mmm, I can tell.” He gulped some more water. “You played today?”

“I did. And you?”

“Ah,” Semi replied. “I’m called on when we’re in a pinch, but today Ushijima  was having one of those games when he’s unstoppable.”  His eyes glimmered at Shinsuke. “Forgive me if this is rude, Kita-san, but we’re in a similar situation you and I, so …”

“What do you want to ask, Semi-san?” Shinsuke said, although he thought he knew.

He paused, deliberating his words. “Do you ever feel bitter about the fact that you’re not a regular?”

“It’s not my place to feel bitter. I’m a part of the team and whatever is best for the team is something I take into account at all times.”

Semi stared at his hands. “Even though a kouhai has … uh … usurped you.”

“There’s no coup here, Semi. I wasn't a regular to begin with. Inarizaki have been blessed with talented second years. We can’t not play them," Shinsuke murmured, keeping his voice neutral.

“I suppose so, especially as amongst your juniors there’s a ‘genius’ to boot?”

“A genius who works harder than anyone I know,” Shinsuke replied, his reproof soft but there.

Semi clicked his tongue. “You’re either incredibly diplomatic, or you have no side at all. Either way, you’re a better person than I could ever be, Kita-san.” He twisted his head to the side. “But then again, perhaps losing out to a genius is less galling than to a mere mortal.”

“I don’t look on it as losing. I play my part.”

“Quarterfinals here we coooooooo-me!” Tendou sang, pounding down the corridor. “Hey, Semisemi, I’m ready now. What we waiting for?”

“You,” Semi retorted, but there was fondness in his tone. “Thank you for keeping me company, Kita-san. Good luck tomorrow.”

“Yeah, good luck, Roomie. I got my key,” Tendou said, slapping his jeans pocket, “so don’t wait up!”

And they sauntered off. Or rather Semi attempted to saunter but Tendou was lounging over him, telling a joke and didn’t bother to look back.

_Well, why would he?_

 

Despite their win,  Atsumu was moodily prodding at his food and avoiding everyone’s eyes. He was aware he’d messed up, but not willing to admit it to everyone, least of all his brother who was leaning back in his chair, quibbling a point of play with Suna.

In that mood it wasn’t fair on anyone to be sharing with their most tempestuous of Setters, but he had to sleep somewhere, so when there was a break in the courses, Shinsuke made his way up the table.

“Atsumu-kun,” he murmured, and placed one hand on his shoulder.

“Hmm?” He stared up, blinked, and then Ginjima leapt to his feet vacating the chair next to Atsumu.

“Kita-san,” Atsumu sounded respectful, and his head bowed an acknowledgement. “I’m sor –”

Before Osamu could smirk, Shinsuke sat down. “Ushijima came to watch our game today, did you know that?”

“Huh? Nope, I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t see him,” Osamu muttered.

“Or any of them,” Atsumu mused, frowning.

“It was just their captain.”

Opposite, Ren had a hold of a teapot and was pouring mint tea. Shinsuke waited until he’d poured for them all, reciprocated for Ren, then sipped from his cup.

“Ushiwaka saw you fuck up, ‘Tsumu,” Osamu whispered.

“He saw the pair of you work together to bring the match home for Inarizaki,” Shinsuke reprimanded. “And any serves you might have misaimed, were honest attempts and not a play for safety.” He nudged the cup towards him. “Drink up, it’s good for you.”

“It’s mint.” Atsumu pulled a face, but sipped all the same.

“It’s calming, Atsumu-kun. We all need a good night’s sleep if we’re to get through to the semis.”

“’Course we will,” Atsumu scoffed. “’N I c’n survive on no sleep.”

“Six against six,” Shinsuke reminded him, and spared a glance down the rest of the table.

“Yeah,” Suna fake-yawned. “Not six against one and five zombies, ‘Tsumu.”

 

Shinsuke wasn’t sure how it was possible for someone to return to a tidy room and within minutes have turned it into a site of devastation.

But Tendou Satori arrived back from his dinner, had emptied the black plastic sack of clothes over his bed, then careened into the bathroom.

_And you’re leaving it like that?_

Shinsuke gripped his book in his hand, the strains of the day, of having to placate and calm and soothe as he not only guided the team through a disastrous second set but dinner, too, beginning to tell in a stiff shoulder not easily unknotting.

“Qu-QU-QUARTERFINALS!”

“Snazzy pyjamas, amiright?” Tendou swung open the bathroom door, lounged against the frame and waggled his eyebrows.

“They’re …” He took them in. White with black zigzag stripes, he resembled a frazzled zebra. “They’re reasonably understated for you.”

“My grandma made them. She reckons I need more muted clothes, so I stand out more.”

“Your grandma?”

“Uh-huh. Never knowingly understated,” he laughed, and bounding towards his bedside cabinet, he reached for his wallet and flashed a photograph.

His grandma was little. Next to her, Tendou towered. He could have wrapped himself in three and still been taller, Shinsuke reckoned. Her hair was white, and arranged in a bun at the back of her head. But for all that dissimilarity, there was a strong resemblance, not just in the heavy lidded eyes, but the crooked smile and the very real feeling that she’d snap out a smart remark as soon as look at you.

“She used to live really near us,” Tendou mused. “And when I was a kid, she’d pick me up from school, and later volleyball practice when my parents were working. Told me to take no shit from anyone.” He snorted. “Okay, so she never used the word shit – would prolly wash my mouth out with soap if I said such a word – but she stuck up for me.”

“Where is she now?”

“Ah, went to live with my uncle and my younger cousins. I’d got a place at Shiratorizawa and she … well, I guess she thought her work was done…” He trailed off, lying back on his bed, then closed his wallet with a sigh.

“You miss her.”

“It ain’t like she can pick me up from school anymore, but it used to be great when she’d come along to matches in Middle School,” he replied. “What about you, Kita-kun?”

“My Grandma lives with us.” He smiled. “She’s been watching our games.”

“It’s good, don’t you think, having that one person you know only wants you to do well?” His mouth drooped. “I miss that. Like, the cheer squad obviously want the team to do well, ‘cuz then we win. But Granny, she only cares ‘cuz it’s me out there. Me doin’ well, or being happy, is more important than the result.”

“Yes.” He remembered today’s match, looking around the court just before he was subbed on and catching sight of Granny, wearing a pink tee shirt, one he thought had his name printed onto it. Around her very few of the supporters would have known who he was, preferring to show their appreciation for either Miya or Aran, but she’d moved herself to the front, and made sure he knew she was watching. ‘Watching over you, Shin-chan.’

Playing for the team, to steady the ship when the waves threatened, was his role, and a role she’d never diminished, gently chiding detractors the same way she went about her everyday life – with the faintest of smiles before carrying on down her required path. Her quiet support, her absolute knowledge that he was there for a reason, were all that were needed.

“Mind you, she yells about my hair. But really, what can I do but make the most of it?” Tendou said, yawning so wide the words were almost incomprehensible. “Fuck, I’m tired. It’s like Granny’s tellin’ me now to get some sleep.”

As Tendou crawled under his sheet, the panoply of upended clothes, dropped to the floor.

And he’s not going to pick that up?

Shinsuke stared at the mess, then flicked his eyes to Tendou’s face.

“Tendou?” he began.

But he was snoring now.

 _I don’t even need to look at it,_ he thought, and turned over in his bed, intent instead on distracting himself with a book, rather than the state of the floor around Tendou Satori’s bed.

He could tidy and in the process wake Tendou-san, which would either disconcert him, or make him laugh. Or he could concentrate on his own surroundings, take deep breaths as he visualised tomorrow’s game. Perhaps the image of that receive he’d made, turning the ball perfectly to Atsumu, which had led to a sweet spike from Suna, perhaps that could distract him from the seething sea of socks and underpants and –

_Why does he have gloves in summer?_

It was no good. He got out of bed, gathered up the clothes on the floor and stuffed them in the black plastic bag. It rustled, but he didn’t care. Tendou would probably not even remember he’d emptied his garbage sack of clothes over his room, and if he didn’t sort this out now, then he’d get no sleep at all.

A hand whipped out and grabbed his wrist. “Hey, shouldn’t you be asleep?”

“Getting things in order,” he tried not to seethe, and wrenched away.

“Then yell at me to do it,” Tendou muttered, levering his legs over the side of the bed. “Seriously, this is my shit, and it ain’t down to you to clear up after me.”

“But you left it!”

“’Cuz I’m a slob and it don’t bother me, but if it bothers you, Kita-kun, then I oughta be more respectful.” He reached out and took the bag, his fingers gracing Shinsuke’s arm. “My Granny would be clippin’ me round the ear right now.” He yawned into his zebra sleeve, then proceeded to scoop the rest of the clothes into the bag. “Semi thinks you’re cool, by the way.”

“He does?”

“Yeah, reckons you got your head screwed on right. Personally, I think it’s ‘cause you didn’t question him ‘bout not playin’. Kind of a sore point, right now.” His mouth drooped downwards, but he swung the bin bag over his shoulder, then placed it back in the corner of the room. “I miss playing with him, ya know? He’s a great Setter, just … the kid we got suits the team more. But then I gotta be all responsible and statesmanlike.”

“You do?”

“Hey, don’t look so surprised. Our Setter and one of the new kids don’t hit it off. Like Tsutomo’s this amazing talent, but he takes everything so goddamn seriously. And then Shirabu’s a snarky piece of work at times. You have no idea …” He grinned and touched his nose. “I guess you do. Is that why you’re so grown up, Kita-san? Like, I thought Wakatoshi was mature but with him it’s as if he don’t notice. But you notice everything, right? And you take it to a whole other level. Is it those twins who’ve made ya like this?”

He laughed. “My team would say I’ve always been like this,” Shinsuke replied. “But you could be right.”

“I’m awake now,” Tendou muttered, and sank down on his bed. “I have this tiny window, y’know, where I can fall asleep straight away, but then, it’s like the curtains are flung wide open and I’m up for hours.”

“If I were not here, Tendou-san, then what would you do?”

“Well, now you’re asking!  Most times I listen to music, read or whatever, but I’m kinda twitchy now.” He stuck his lip out, knelt on his bed and peered through the blind slats. “What time you got, Kita-kun?”

“It’s a quarter past ten.”

“Hmm, guess I shouldn’t go out. Coach’ll be pissed.” He pressed his nose up against the window, the flickering lights rendering his face a patchwork. “But that ain’t exactly out.” Twisting his head around, Tendou frowned, then opened the window. “Hey, there’s a roof garden. Did you know that, Kita-san?”

“I read something about it,” Shinsuke murmured and picked his book up.

“But you’ve not explored?”

“Our coaches would rather we stayed in our rooms or along the corridor.”

“Ah …” He stuck his head out further, elongating his neck as he stared upwards. “Your team listen to the Coaches, right?”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Only –” He wound his head it, chuckling. “I’m pretty sure I c’n hear one or two of them up there. That accent o’ yours is pretty thick.” He listened again, and his sleepy eyes widened to large ovals. “Whoa and that sounds like Kenjirou. I better go.”

“What!”

Pulling the window shut, Tendou leapt over his bed, landing heavily on the floor and then grabbed his sneakers. “Don’t worry, I can deal,” he blasted, pushing his feet into his shoes, wriggling as the backs smushed down rather than untying his laces. “Only I better be quick.”

“Tendou, what are you talking about? Who is Kenjirou?”

“Our Setter. The snarky shit. Don’t worry. I’m sure your boys won’t get into –” he grabbed his passkey and the door handle, “- any more trouble.”

“It’s the twins up there?”

Of course it was. Who else would it be? Who else would bury their recent feud under the possibility of an adventure. He was only surprised they’d kept it to the roof garden and not taken to the city stretched out before them? How stupid he was to think a few words from him and a cup of mint tea would make any difference to Atsumu.

Before he realised, he’d grabbed his own key and had pulled on a pair of sneakers, nimble fingers tying each bow tight, and had followed Tendou out the room.

He was charging down the corridor, heading for the staircase rather than the lifts and past the bedrooms of the Shiratorizawa players, and Shinsuke didn’t stop to call on Aran or Ren, but pelted after Tendou.

And if he’d thought about it, as he usually did before he took any action, then Shinsuke was sure he’d have not turned that way. He’d have turned to the right and up the corridor, checked on the location of their most troublesome pair and then the three of them could have brought them to heel.

If they needed to be thus restrained, that is.

But he’d heard the note of panic in his own voice, heard a lilt in Tendou’s and mistaken it for responsibility, and he’d not taken time out to think it through.

But then what could go wrong? Even if the Miyas and Shiratorizawa’s Setter were hurling insults at each other, the appearance of Tendou-san and Shinsuke would quell them, surely. Even without Shinsuke’s presence, the Miyas knew they owed Tendou, so might grumble but would return if not meekly, at least without too much complaint. And he didn’t know much about Shirabu, but he’d appeared to be respectful of his senpais – even Tendou.

“Up here,” Tendou yelled, taking the stairs three at a time, a flash of black and white.

He heard the shove of the door (a fire escape, he thought) and a flash of the lights in the street and redoubled his pace when he heard a loud ‘WHOA!’ from Tendou.

“What’s going on?” he demanded, his voice carrying before him. “Atsumu, Osamu, you should not be up –” He stopped, blinking as he looked around. “They’re not here.”

Tendou was peering over the edge, his hands on the railing. “So cool.”

“Where are they? Is there another exit?”

“Huh?” He leant over the railing, then twisted his head around. “Nah, don’t think so. I musta been mistaken. Guess those kouhais of ours are more obedient than we thought.” He went back to staring at the view. “This is cool, right?”

“It’s a city.”

“Like where I come from, it’s pretty countrified. Shiratorizawa has horses, y’know. And I’m not saying we don’t have street lights and shops and neon signs and all that stuff but it’s BIGGER here,” he whispered, his eyes saucerlike in appreciation.

“Did you really hear them?”

“Hear who?”

“The Miyas and your Setter. You said they were up here?”

“Hmm, well, they ain’t here. So I’m guessing their voices musta carried. And I was prob’ly mistaken ‘bout Shirabu. He’s not gonna wander.”

 _Right._ Tightening his dressing gown, Shinsuke pulled what he hoped was his most neutral expression and turned his back. “Goodbye.”

“Aww, Kita-kun, don’t be like that. It’s a pretty neat place, don’t you think?”

“We shouldn’t be here.”

“Why not? It’s not really ‘out’ is it. We haven’t left the hotel, and really it’s kinda like having the window open.” He inhaled deeply. “Smells nicer though.”

He couldn’t help imbibe the air after that. The sleepy look on Tendou’s face, his enraptured, lazy smile, kicked an instinct inside of Shinsuke, and he filled his lungs.

“Lavender,” he breathed, as the heady scent infused his nostrils. It caught at his throat, lightly dancing on his tastebuds, reminding him of home, and Granny in the garden crushing some buds between her fingers to release the scent.

“My granny used to make lavender sachets and stuff ‘em in drawers. Said it would keep the monsters away,” Tendou murmured. “She meant moths, obviously, but I used to sleep with my sock drawer and one eye open, just in case I caught sight of a monster.” He chuckled. “I bet you kept your drawers tightly shut, right?”

“Yes,” he admitted, then returned the smile. “I had lavender sachets too.”

“Must be a Granny thing. That and jasmine.” Tendou waved his hand in the direction of a flower bed. “There’s all sorts in there, and a bench if you want to sit.”

“Amazing observational skills for someone who didn’t even know this roof garden existed,” Shinsuke observed.

“Ah, the arched eyebrow,” Tendou teased. “Might work on your troublesome twins, but I’m impervious to disapproval.” Sauntering along to the flowerbed, raised in a block of stone, he swept away a straggle of ivy to reveal a slatted wooden seat. “But, yeah, I came up here the first day we arrived, before we discovered we were roomies. It’s better at night, though.”

“So why go through the charade of telling me some of my team were up here?”

Tendou stretched out his legs and tilted back his head, staring at the darkened sky. “Would you have come up here if I’d asked you?”

“No. But why would you ask?”

“Cuz I like seeing things with people. Helps gage reactions when you take them out of the normal scene. Figured you weren’t going agree to breakin’ out of the hotel and exploring, but this … this is kinda cool, don’t ya think?” He shuffled along the seat. “Join me, Kita-kun? We can stare at the stars.”

It was quiet up here. Not that the hotel was too noisy (well, not when Tendou wasn’t singing, or the Miyas weren’t beating each other to a pulp) but up here, the sounds of the street were muted, and if he closed his eyes it was almost as if he were back with Granny in the special patch of garden she called her own..

A few minutes free of responsibility wouldn’t hurt, would it?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed that. I've loved writing this odd couple.


	3. Middle Blocker's Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stargazing with Satori, and another night where things do not go to Shinsuke's plan!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When writing this, I became aware that there's one person on the Shiratorizawa team that Kita would definitely click with ... and then had great fun not making that happen. Sorry, Shinsuke.

“That one there’s the big pan,” Tendou informed Shinsuke, pointing with one finger as he traced a pattern, finally punctuating with his fingertip at the last star.

“What?”

“Looks like a saucepan.”

“It’s the plough,” Shinsuke reproved.

“And there’s the kitty cat.”

“There isn’t a constellation called a kitty cat.”

“Says you. Like, who makes up these names anyway? I think that looks like a cat licking its paw, and if I squint I can see a ball of wool by its tail.”

“It’s not –”

“Kita-kun, lighten up.  I don’t care,” Tendou complained, lolling his head back.  “My way’s more fun. Now, your go. See the three bright stars.”

“Orion’s belt. He’s a hunter.”

He sighed. “You’re not getting this at all. What does it look like to you? Have you ever seen an old Greek hunter? No, me neither. But that guy up there is kinda strong looking, and he’s standing there real imposing like …. Hey, maybe it’s Waka –”

“Aran,” Shinsuke interrupted.

“Ha! I’ll let you have that.” His hand plucked at some foliage in the bed behind them, absentmindedly Shinsuke thought, rubbing the bits of leaves between his fingers. “You’re protective of your team, aren’t you?”

“I am the captain.”

“But I get the feeling you’d be just as protective without a title.”

He assented, but didn’t respond to say that it wasn’t protectiveness, more a duty he felt to do the best he could, one only slightly magnified by the responsibility of his position. As a regular squad member, he’d still have had their backs; responsibility didn’t start with an assumed title, but rather an innate sense to do the best he could. Above them the stars even through the mugginess of the city sparkled, and the sliver-of-a-moon peeped out from behind a rare cloud, lending its silver glow to the scene and picking out Tendou’s fingers as they scuffled across the flower bed.

“Oooh, a dandelion. Now, my Ma would be rooting these out. Her garden’s her pride and joy and she’s got no time for these critters.”

“They are weeds,” Shinsuke murmured.

“Pfft, what’s a weed but a tenacious plant that’s willing to grow where nothin’ else will?” His index finger stroked the stem, and he turned around, peering at the closed up dandelion head. “You ever blow them?”

“Pardon?”

“When they’ve seeded. You ever used to pick them and blow the seeds.”

“Um… yes, probably.” He screwed up his face to think, and a picture of Granny appeared -of the pair of them - with her sitting on a rug while Kita lay on his stomach, watching as the gossamer feathery dandelion seeds floated around them. “It was better watching them fly on the breeze.”

“Ah, a kid like me was impatient and wanted to give nature a helping hand. Made up for the amount I trampled on with my big feet, or crushed with a volleyball.”

It was a companionable silence. One that Shinsuke thought Tendou didn’t need breaking, both of them out in the sultry air, staring at stars and inhaling lavender.

“You don’t have to stay,” Tendou said at last. “I’ve got my key, so I’ll try not to wake you up when I get back.”

“It’s fine,” Shinsuke said. “I like the peace up here.”

“The slammed doors and rumbling conversations through the walls getting you down?”

“It’s quiet back home. Hotels are impersonal, but I don’t mind that. There’s an order about them, and a routine I like.” He smiled to himself. “If only they weren’t so full of people.”

“Unpredictable ones like me, right?”

“Tendou-kun, what makes you think you’re unpredictable?”

“Huh? I’m not?”

“I know, for instance, that you’ll empty your clothes over your bed rather than sort through methodically. I know you’ll make an attempt at tidying them away, but it’ll be haphazard. And I _know_ you’ll always leave a glove on the floor and the tape from your hands sticking to the side of the bin. And –” he glanced at Tendou’s now still hand, “- you never quite manage to get the adhesive off from your knuckles.”

“Whoa you’re good. Not sure if I’m creeped out or blown away that you’ve kept such close tabs on me.” He leered closer, squinting. “I’m impressed, actually. You know me better than some of my teammates.”

Shaking his head, Shinsuke pressed his fingers together, holding them to his face. “I’m observant, that’s all. I recognise there’s a pattern, but I don’t know why you do these things.”

“You could ask,” Tendou replied and stretched out again, then began to pick at the knuckles on his right hand. “Here’s one for free. The adhesive is cuz I forgot to get any of the stuff that takes it off, and I don’t want to scrub too hard and break the skin.”

“Your teammates don’t have any?”

“Probably. I haven’t asked. By the time I’m taking it off they’re all getting ready for dinner.”

“Why is that?”

“’Cuz they’re hungry and don’t want to go out naked, I guess,” Tendou said, and smirked.

Shinsuke raised his eyebrows, refusing to rise to the bait. “Why do you take your tape off in your bedroom and not straight after the match?”

“Ah, that’ll be a ritual. Kind of for luck. When we win, I leave it on; when we lose I rip it off straight away and chuck it in the courtside bins. Bit like you wanting to keep things in order.”

Luck – an odd concept. It was the small things he did that made him. Diligence led to purpose. To equate this with fortune undid his work. But he didn’t voice his thoughts.

“I have some adhesive remover,” he murmured instead. “You’re welcome to use it.”

“Of course you do,” Tendou said, but his head was turned away, and Shinsuke got the feeling this wasn’t a conversation any more. “Middle Blocker’s Hand.”

“Sorry?”

Tendou pointed to the sky. “That constellation there.”

“Oh, why Middle Blocker? Isn’t it just a hand?”

“Uh, one I’m biased, and two because us Middle Blockers have abnormally long fingers. I’m betting that snarky kid of yours has longer fingers than your Setter.”

Shinsuke pursed his lips, remembering Atsumu’s assertion that his hand span was the longest on the team, and pressing his palms against everyone else’s to prove his point.

“You’re sure of that?”

“In the game, yeah. He’d stretch out to make a block. It’s like we have super gaps between our joints. Ningyo, you know.” He held out his hand, palm facing Shinsuke. “Looks normal, right?”

“Bigger than mine,” Shinsuke remarked, staring at his fingers. “But you are taller.”

“Watch this,” Tendou replied, then clutched Shinsuke’s hand. “Or rather feel it.”

He smoothed their palms together, and then with a lopsided grin, gave a wink.

Tendou’s hand was warm, his skin dry with roughened calluses on his fingers. Acutely aware that his hand had seen far less court action, Shinsuke hesitated, but Tendou was still grinning.

“So, like, my hand is bigger than yours, even in this relaxed state, but not by much. And you’re right, that ain’t surprising cuz I must have a good ten centimetres over you, right, Kita-san, and you ain’t bulky either, so your hands are slim.”

“Yours aren’t that broad.”

“Yeah, I’m a scrawny git. Don’t eat enough, Granny says.” He pressed his lips together, straightening the crooked smile. And then the frown creased across his brow, and a look of concentration as his mouth dropped open. Tendou stretched his fingers, and his fingertips crept higher up Shinsuke’s palm.

Transfixed, Shinsuke discovered another Tendou quirk. He could bend his fingers at their top joint, until they smoothed over Shinsuke’s fingertips without bending the rest of his fingers.

“Course,” Tendou muttered, “your hand’s more pliable than a ball and I’m not interested in knocking it over a net.” He grinned and then pulled away, returning for a high five.

“Grateful for that at least,” Shinsuke replied wryly. His palm stung from the contact. It felt cold from the sudden lack, so he furled it up bringing it towards his chest.

“See what I mean, though? I got very stretchy fingers, and I bet your Middle Blockers are the same – specially that fierce looking one.”

“Who?”

“The one that looks like he drowns kittens.”

“Oomimi?” Shinsuke chuckled. “He’s more likely to save them. Appearances are deceptive, Tendou-san.”

“Not in my case. What you see is what you get. And Wakatoshi’s straightforward. You’re the mystery.”

“I’m normal.”

“Nah, you look like an angel, like you couldn’t hurt a fly, but I’m pretty willing to bet you’re more dangerous than those twins of yours.”

“I’m not.”

“When you’re fully fit, that is.”

He was fishing, Shinsuke knew, and this time he allowed him to win an answer.

“I am fit. I’m not carrying an injury, Tendou-san. I never have.”

The moon slid back behind a cloud, leaving only the yellow neon light of the city below to flash intermittently on Tendou’s profile. Yellow black yellow black a spectre of the modern age.

“Perhaps we should go,” Shinsuke said. “Quarter finals tomorrow and the games will be hard.”

“Sheesh, and there was me thinking they’d be a picnic,” Tendou murmured, but he got to his feet. “I hope you get a game tomorrow.”

“Hmm, if I’m on court it’s because we need stabilising,” Shinsuke replied. “I’m content to be on the sidelines.”

“Really?” Tendou had made it to the door, reaching out to the handle, a quick turn and then – “Ah.”

“What?”

“Uh … the door won’t open.”

“Are you sure?”

Tendou turned round, a grimace on his face, and in his hand he held the silver door handle. “Yeah, pretty sure. “

“B-but… no, this is not happening. Put the handle back on and try again.”

“I don’t think that’s the way it works,” Tendou muttered and scratched his head. “Guess that explains the note on the door.”

“What note?” Shinsuke’s voice caught in his throat, but he knew, he knew there was no good news about to come from Tendou’s mouth.

“Hummmm, it said ‘No Entry’. Only as I’d been up before, I figured it was just a note to put people off – ‘specially a corridor full of kids who could hellraise up here.”

“I saw no note.” Even to his own ears, he recognised the dangerous tone in his voice.

“Ah, it mighta, kinda fallen off,” Tendou suggested and side stepped along the wall, actually looking wary for once. “Look, it’ll be cool. We c’n shout and someone’ll hear us.”

“There must be another way out,” Shinsuke said, aware there was a snap in his voice.

“Uh, no, unless you want to climb down the fire escape.”

“Let’s do that, then.”

“Um, yeah, we could, but it doesn’t start here. We’d need to drop down a floor first and it’s not an easy jump. Sorry, I ain’t risking my knees or my neck. If we yell, someone’ll come soon enough.”

“And have the coaches realise I’m somewhere I shouldn’t be. I don’t think so,” Shinsuke retorted, and now he could feel a new sensation building inside of him – that of burning fury mixed with impotence. 

“Give me that handle!” he demanded and snatched it from Tendou.

The spindle had come loose, a screw having dropped out, Shinsuke thought, and he scrabbled on the ground to see if he could find it, before shoving the handle back in the hole and trying to make it work. Nothing happened. The spindle didn’t catch and the handle pointed stubbornly downwards.

“Right, where’s the fire escape?”

“Uh … I told you, it’s really not safe –”

But Shinsuke didn’t listen, was striding across to the corner (not caring that as he brushed past the shrubs the scent of lavender infused the air) intent on finding a solution. Okay not an ideal one, the ideal one would have been the handle working, or not coming up here in the first place, or sprouting wings … but – He took a breath, a deep breath – and then leant over the railing.

There was a ladder bracketed to the wall. A metal ladder, one that led to the fire escape proper. There would be no need to leap. They could climb down to their floor, bang on the door and someone would let them in. It wouldn’t be Aran, unfortunately, as his room was at the other end of the corridor, but what did it matter if it were a Shiratorizawa player? 

Decided, he leant over, grasped the ladder, about to swing over and then swayed. The ladder came away from the wall, the rusting bracket protesting at its sudden use. Shinsuke let out an involuntary yelp, just as a hand grabbed him round the waist, pulling him away.

“I got you. You’re safe.” Tendou soothed, but his voice was trembling.

“Yes, I know!” Shinsuke snarled. “I wasn’t about to fall!”

“But you shouted. I thought the rail musta given away.”

“No, _that_ is strong!”  Shinsuke insisted. “And will you let go of me!”

“S-sorry.” Tendou staggered backwards. In the light, even in the yellow neon, he looked abnormally pale. “I really did think you were falling, you know?”

“I wasn’t,” he muttered and stared at his rust flecked hand before brushing it with the other.  “We can’t use the fire escape.”

“Yeah, guess we better start yelling. Although …”

“What?”

“C’n you figure out where any of your guys are sleeping?”

“Ah, not near here. The roof garden only covers half the floor. It’s your teammates down there, Tendou-san.”

He narrowed his eyes and tapped his chin, then stepped back to the railing, his head flicking from left to right. “’K, we’re the other side, right. Eita and Hayato are next to us, so we can’t reach them ... the first years are down the end.  I don’t want to disturb Tsutomu – he’d hyperventilate.  Right so …” He span round, blinking rapidly. “Kawanishi, that’s the boy!”

“Who?”

“Middle Blocker. Loves me. Well, no he don’t, but he’s a respectful kouhai and he sure as hell ain’t gonna want to go on court without his best senpai there. He’s sharing with Shirabu – not the greatest choice, but he’ll keep his mouth shut ‘til we get back home.”

“What about Reon? He’s … um … sensible.”

“And sharing with Wakatoshi.” He waggled his eyebrows in what Shinsuke assumed was supposed to be a meaningful way.  “Nope, Taichi’s the best bet. He’s next to Wakatoshi, so three windows along,” he pondered, then peered over the railing. “Bingo, their window’s open. Get me some gravel, will you, Kita-kun?”

_Well, you know your team,_ Shinsuke sighed to himself, and scooped up some gravel.

“See, as its open, and the one above it is closed, I won’t even …” Tendou paused, took a small stone and held it between his thumb and finger, “ … have to aim, just …” he let go, “drop.”

It bounced off the window. Shinsuke held his breath waiting for a response.

“Maybe they’re asleep,” he said, and tried to damp down the unfamiliar swirl of panic in his stomach.

“Nah, one stone won’t do it. Let’s drop a few.”

His mouth a sliver of a crooked smirk, one eyebrow quirked, Tendou chuckled. Next to him, the mounting panic in Shinsuke’s stomach began to settle as the stones trickled from Tendou’s hand pattering down on the window pane below.

“Ah, he’s coming now. And he’s not blond, so we won’t have to deal with Shirabu-kun.” Tendou leant right over, and as Kawanishi poked his head out, he threw another stone.

“OW!” Kawanishi bellowed (was his voice really that deep?)

“Hey,  Taichi-kun,” Tendou crooned, “up here ….Oh. OOOPs!”

“Satori, why are you throwing stones at my window?” asked the voice below.

“Ah, Wakatoshi. Hey, sorry to wake you.”

Shinsuke staggered back from the railing. “It’s Ushijima!” he hissed.

“Uh yeah,” Tendou whispered. “Why he’s in with Shirabu, I have no idea.”

“You did not wake me but I was reading. If you will excuse me then I shall get back…” Ushijima trailed off. “Is that Kita-san with you?” he asked, his voice deepening into a rumble of disapproval.

“Uh, yeah. Look, Wakatoshi, it’s like this. We’re stuck up here. Could you come and open the door … or …. Uh … send Reon. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

“He is unavailable,” Ushijima stated. His face was in shadow, the neon not daring to light him, but Shinsuke could tell even without the view that he was displeased. “Why are you stuck?”

“Door handle came off in my hand,” Tendou replied, laughing weakly. “Could you come up and give it a shove from the other side?”

“But why are you up there?”

“Good question. It’s relaxing, isn’t it, Kita-kun?”

“Don’t drag me into this!” Shinsuke whispered furious now. “You enticed me up here under false pretences.”

“Relaxing.” Ushijima sounded perplexed as if the word held no meaning for him.

“Only we can’t get down now,” Tendou reminded him.

 “I will come up now,” Ushijima said, and then closed the window.

“See it won’t be so bad. Wakatoshi’ll ram down that door, or if he can’t then he’ll get hold of someone.” Tendou began to whistle, then ran his hands down his pyjama’s, trying to stick them into non-existent pockets, before realising and laughing ruefully. “We should get our stories straight.”

“It is straight. You told me Atsumu and Osamu were up here and arguing with Shirabu. You were making it up for some odd reason of your own, and … and … none of this is my fault!”

“Well, yeah, except … Wow, you know you’re really cute when you’re mad, Kita-san!”

“What are you going to tell Ushijima?” he demanded, refusing to be swayed even though Tendou was staring right into his eyes.

“You see the thing is, I was told – well, we all were, so it weren’t actually aimed at me – at least I don’t think it was, but who knows. Lots of things are aimed at me –” He shook his head. “Whatever, we were all told not to come up here, and … uh … if Wakatoshi discovers I disobeyed for no real reason, then … uh …” He swallowed. “I don’t want to go home yet.”

“He’d send you home?” Shinsuke blinked in disbelief.

“He might think he has to report it, and then Washijou-san would prolly kick my ass, send me home, or make me run to the stadium. He’s already got me down to doing one hundred serves when we get back to school, and we ain’t even lost.”

“So you knew we weren’t allowed up here. You knew the consequences and yet –” He frowned. “Why should I help you?”

But as soon as the words left his lips, he knew why. Inarizaki owed Tendou Satori, who could quite easily have had the Miyas sent home, and no one would have blamed him.

And then the door began to bang as if someone on the other side were about to give a heavy shove.

“Okay,” Shinsuke sighed. “What’s the story?”

“Just back me up and say you thought you heard voices,” Tendou muttered. “Only, I don’t want to get Shirabu into any shit, either.” He chewed the side of his mouth, considered something then groaned. “Nah, not even if it gets Eita in the game.”

Ushijima Wakatoshi was wearing his purple pyjamas again, and his towelling robe, knotted tightly at the waist. And considering it was a sultry night and he’d just barged his way through a thick fire door, he looked remarkably chilled and – clearly – disapproving.

“Why are you both up here?” he asked, smoothing an unruly tress of hair with his hand.

“We thought we heard voices,” Tendou began.

“Voices?” Ushijima looked around, scrutinising every corner of the roof garden. “Whose?”

“Uh, well, it’s like this,” Tendou continued.

“Were they from Shiratorizawa?” Ushijima asked, frowning so deep his rather perfect eyebrows met in the middle.

“Not sure …” Tendou trailed off and fiddled with the hem of his pyjama top.

“That cannot be countenanced. We shall have to have a team meeting about this. No one is allowed up here. They have been told and –”

“It was Inarizaki players,” Shinsuke said, hoping he sounded firm and calm. “At least, we thought we heard them speaking from up here, but when I came to investigate there was … uh … no one here.”

“They’d disappeared.”

“Or maybe they were never here,” Tendou whispered, elongating the words and widening his eyes as he wiggled his fingers in the air. “They disappeared in the mist.”

“Mist? What mist, Satori?”

“Metaphorical mist,” he supplied. His foot crept to Shinsuke’s and he nudged him with his toes.

Shinsuke coughed. “There was no one here when we got here, Ushijima-san.” He tried to stop twisting his fingers together but something about the conversation and Ushijima’s monosyllabic replies were making him feel like an elementary school kid in trouble for spilling ink on his fingers (not that he’d ever been in trouble, and he took scrupulous care of his fingers.) “We must have been mistaken.”

“Why were you here?” Ushijima asked, turning his attention fully on Tendou. “They were Inarizaki players.”

“A helping hand. Kita-san didn’t know the way.  And he didn’t know who it was, or what they were doing and as I was around, I decided to … uh … be helpful.”

“Helpful.”

Even to Shinsuke’s ears it sounded unlikely, and Ushijima clearly didn’t believe him.

“Who did you think you’d heard, Kita-san?”

“Oh … my second years,” he lied. “Not sure which ones.”

“But they must know they are not allowed up here?” Ushijima questioned, and raised one eyebrow.

“Kids of today,” Tendou scoffed, rolling his eyes in the most exaggerated manner. “Always gotta kick against the most sensible rules.”

“Did you not warn them it was forbidden to be here, Kita-san?”

“N-no,” he stammered, then bit his lip. Why was he the one feeling guilty about this? He straightened up. “Ushijima-san, as far as my team knew, this area did not exist. We had no word from the coaches and so there was no warning given –”

“Besides, give those twins o’ yours a warning and I bet they do the exact opposite,” Tendou muttered.

“Yes,” he agreed, then flinched when Ushijima turned his gimlet gaze onto him. “No, that’s not right. Not exactly. We have different teams, Ushijima, and they take different handling. And, when I think about it, it was probably coming from their room. We had the window open, they had theirs open. Sound carries. That sort of thing.”

“Different indeed.” Ushijima’s gaze flickered all over him. “Your team do not appear to be handled at all if you thought they might be up here.”

“Anywaaaaaay, you’re here now, so we can all go to bed and dream of volleyball, or whatever,” Tendou butted in and nudged Shinsuke towards the door. “It’s all good, so thank you, Wakatoshi.” He gave a huge yawn, setting off Shinsuke. “Ah, someone needs their beauty sleep. Come on, Roomie!”

Hooking his arm into Shinsuke’s he practically dragged him to the door and past Ushijima. And Shinsuke who wanted to explain, who wanted to at least engage Ushijima in conversation and assure him that he did have a handle on his team and he was not as incompetent as the Shiratorizawa captain and under eighteen youth player for Japan clearly thought he was, could only follow as Tendou swept him along in his wake.

“He thinks I’m incompetent!” Shinsuke hissed in an aside as they bundled down the stairs.

“He kinda thinks everyone is. Don’t sweat it,” Tendou replied in an undertone.

“But you dragged me up there!”

“Uh, wasn’t so much dragged. I prefer to think of it as persuaded.”

“Connived!”

“Hey, it was cool. We were having a great time.” They’d rounded the corner, pausing as Ushijima with a curt nod let himself into his room.

“Did you deliberately get the room wrong?” Shinsuke demanded. “Just so you could get him up there!”

“Huh?”

“To make me look stupid … yet again!” Shinsuke snapped. He was grouchy – a feeling he only ever experienced when there were deliberate missteps, people not obeying the simplest of rules because they thought it fun to break them.

“You think I’d want to disturb Wakatoshi? Believe me, the only other person I’d least have liked to find me up there is Washijou-san. But I still don’t understand how  -” Tendou broke off and shook his head. “Look, there’s no harm done, and what does it matter to you if Wakatoshi don’t approve of your Captaincy style? It ain’t gonna affect how your team play.” His eyes glimmered. “Might even gee them up if we play in the final.” Clearing his throat, Tendou shoved his key card into the door, releasing it with a satisfying click. “Why am I saying ‘if’? It’s a done deal. We’re storming the rest of our matches, Kita-san. This is destiny!”

And there was no point in remonstrating, just as there was no point in striding down the corridor and rapping on Ushijima’s door and demanding he listen to him.

_Take no heed, Shin-chan. The truth will out._

And he didn’t know why it bothered him so much, why Ushijima Wakatoshi’s scathing opinion needed to be one he had to change because he was used to this. He was used to other captains and other teams not understanding why he didn’t play. He comprehended their incomprehension with a slight smile and a renewed diligence, then stood on the sidelines and watched as his team turned the opposition to dust. But this was different. This was someone thinking he should never have the position because he had no control and that … that … that was unjust!

He kicked the door closed. The bang made Tendou jump, and the smile left his face.

“Uh… you okay, Kita-san?”

“Perfectly!” he spat and slammed into the bathroom.

He splashed water on his face, ran his pulse points under the cold tap, flossed his teeth then swilled with mouthwash, finally brushing them – hard – until his gums bled.

Tendou was sitting on the edge of his bed when he came out, peeping up at him sheepishly. “C’mon, it ain’t so bad, is it?”

“I am fine. I am also tired, Tendou-san, so I am going to sleep now. Do what you like with the blind, I really do not care in the slightest, but do _not_ disturb me.”

“I … uh … got you something?”

“What!”

Tendou stuck out his hand, reaching across the divide between both beds and twiddled the ‘something’ between his thumb and forefinger. “For my date,” he proclaimed and gave a wink.

“Tendou, what are you talking –”

Tendou thrust a twig at him. Except it wasn’t a twig, not really, but a sprig pulled from a shrub, with tiny purple buds and dusky green leaves.  “Granny also told me lavender was soothing. Maybe slip it under your pillowcase, Kita-kun?”

He was touched despite the irritation he still felt, and had to swallow down the scratchy mass at the back of his throat before he could mumble out a thank you. Accepting the sprig, he held it to his nose, inhaling deeply.

But of course Tendou, being Tendou, had to ruin the moment.

“Does this mean you’ll go to the prom with me, Kita-san?”

_‘Why … why do you ruin things? Why say something like that?’_ he felt like yelling, but didn’t. Instead Shinsuke raised one eyebrow, then placed the lavender on his bedside table before rooting in his drawer for the eye mask and earplugs.

“Good. Night.” Plumping his pillow, he lay down, dead centre in the bed and settled into sleep.

Despite the earplugs, he heard Tendou’s heavy sigh, heard him trudge to the bathroom and heard the sound of the taps running. But there was no song, no obnoxious attempt at conversation, just the normal sounds of someone getting ready for bed.

And Tendou, for the first time that week, made no noise in the night.

So why Shinsuke’s sleep was broken, he had no idea whatsoever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this even a quarter as much as I did writing it, then I'll be smiling. 
> 
> Kudos, comments, cookies, recs to friends, all are appreciated for this odd ship of mine.


	4. The Weird Kids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quarter finals.  
> Will a clash of heads put Inarizaki out of the competition?  
> Tendou makes up a new song.  
> And Ushijima's opinion of Shinsuke does not improve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun thinking up a team for Kiryu (The other top three ace along with Ushijima and Sakusa). He does look a little like a badger, so I went with that. Also received help from Kisukke on tumblr (the mangastream hq translator) who recommended I take the Japanese name for a badger (Mujina and add a syllable like 'no', so he plays for Mujinano High.

As the stadium could house four matches at a time, all eight teams who’d made it to the quarterfinals were playing at the same time. And it so happened that Shiratorizawa played on the same side as Inarizaki, which was both instructive because Shinsuke could keep an eye on teams they might face in the final, but also annoying because Middle Blockers also took time out to stand on the sidelines.

He felt – as Atsumu would put it – like shit that day. At one point during the night, he’d lost an earplug in the folds of his pillow, and his eye mask had irritated him, so he’d removed it and ended up staring at the ceiling instead. Tendou had drawn the blind right down, closing the slats, so light was muted and grey, shapes and colours indistinguishable. He could see the shape of Tendou in his bed, and deduced he was lying on his side, his back to the room, but there were none of his snuffling snores to indicate he was asleep.

Tendou, annoyingly, looked the same as ever. Better even. He looked like he’d had the perfect night’s sleep. As if his granny had stuffed his whole pillow with lavender, or he’d supped camomile tea. He was bouncy on the sidelines, dynamic on the court, and even took time out to holler a ‘HI KITA-KUN’ when he switched with his Libero.

(Shinsuke tried to ignore him, but hearing that gurgling laugh and knowing, despite such a short acquaintance, that Tendou would persist, he gave him a curt bow, then made a show of scrutinizing the ongoing first set, even though Inarizaki were in a storming lead.)

“I don’t understand how he’s so loud, and yet so skilled,” Suna murmured, his cat-like eyes flicking towards the Shiratorizawa team.

“Does one preclude the other?” Shinsuke asked.

“He doesn’t appear to think, only react,” Suna replied.  “If I continually talked the way he does, I wouldn’t be able to think at all.”

Shinsuke didn’t reply right away, watching as Osamu served, targeting the opposition’s ace, and sending them into disarray. Akagi returned the flurried spike straight to Atsumu, who flicked the ball effortlessly (and with a ‘SWEEEEEEET!’) straight to Aran who slammed down a fierce spike to take the first set.

“Instinct and lightening fast assessment,” Shinsuke said, as the team walked off. “Atsumu isn’t quiet, is he?” Glancing down, his attention was caught by Suna’s hands, his fingers flexing before he accepted a water bottle from Atsumu.

_Longer fingers._

_Tendou’s right. It wasn’t just a ploy._

A ploy? Why had he thought that?

A ploy to what?

Make conversation?

Hold hands?

His mind careened to the sprig of lavender and Tendou’s dumb attempt at a joke about prom, and without meaning to, his attention crept to that other court, where Tendou was clapping Semi on the back, his hand staying on his shoulder.

Semi didn’t appear to mind, letting Tendou loll into him, and soon he straightened up, firing some words at their young Wing Spiker who it appeared was about to start the second set and was quaking at the knees.

_He’s actually good with them. And why does that surprise me?_

But then maybe someone had to be because Ushijima stood with Reon, taking slow steady sips from his water bottle and nodding curtly whenever anyone passed a remark. And yet they looked to him for inspiration, even if his words appeared on the monosyllabic side. Lead by example, power their way through each match.

_We’re the same, Ushijima-san, but we have a different approach. My example is one of diligence, or shoring up, of the importance of building blocks. Yours is too, but you’re unsure how to communicate this importance. Perhaps you think everyone is as diligent and hungry as you, whereas I know that’s not the truth. Different players need a different impetus._

And Tendou, now ruffling Shirabu’s hair and causing a scowl, clearly understood that too.

The second set was closer, Shinsuke came on towards the end for Aran, when the possibility of a third set revved closer. Their opposition (Kyoto High) ramped up the pace, causing confusion at first, which annoyed the cheer squad, but only set Atsumu and Osamu into sparkling displays of power, then equally dumb reckless moves that neither quite had the aptitude to pull off. Suna was steadfast in this set, the prize had moved further away so his focus had returned and Ginjima managed to pull off a fluke shot, just when the set point was about to go Kyoto’s way.

Still in the rearguard, Shinsuke saw the toss for the serve, the projection it took as the server’s hand hit it square in the centre, and he could see its path. He meant to let Osamu deal with it, but Osamu had stumbled, and the ball looked in danger of dropping inside the line, so he stepped across into Osamu’s zone, just as he righted himself.

They clashed heads.

Later he heard Atsumu say the only reason Osamu didn’t sustain an injury was because his brain was stuffed with cotton wool, but at the time it didn’t feel like that. Osamu’s forehead was a rock, smashing with the force of the Symplegades, and Shinsuke’s nose was the fishing boat caught in its path.

He reeled, the ball hit his arm and then Akagi’s foot as he saved another point, but Shinsuke was flat on his back staring again at a ceiling.

Another player would have insisted futilely they could play on, but Shinsuke felt warm blood trickling from his nostrils and knew he would have forcibly removed any rebel. But it kicked inside him, clawed at his gut that he could play no more part in this set, and maybe not the game, when the court medic ordered him to the first aid room.

A cheer went off round a quarter of the stadium, a band started playing, and it wasn’t that he was paranoid, but there’ was a sick irony that this fanfare for Shiratorizawa’s win (the first team to reach the semis) was played as Kita Shinsuke was quitting the courts.

It was more than a trickle of blood, and as he walked he swayed, then realised just why Coach Oomi, and made him clasp some wadding to his forehead, rather than only pinching his nose.

“Am I cut?” he muttered.

“Yes, but it’s small,” Oomi-san replied, sounding shaky. “Heads and noses bleed profusely, Kita-kun, so you couldn’t stay on court.”

I know, he wanted to say, but there was blood trickling down his throat and so he tipped his head forwards and said nothing else.

He’d have been off at the next rotation anyway, so why did this hurt … so … much?

It was not an especially deep cut, despite the blood flowing copiously down the middle of his face, so the doctor concurred with the nurse that stitches wouldn’t be necessary. Tape was applied, several thin strips criss-crossing above his eyebrow, and then the nurse began to dab away at the dried blood. Coach Oomi was restless, shuffling his feet, his attention far from the medical room, now he knew the Captain was okay, and towards the stadium where the roars had reached a crescendo.  But the cacophony of sound did not appear to be a band. There were no enthusiastic drums, but something like a knell tolling towards them.

“We’ve lost that set,” said the coach, sighing.

“You may leave me, Oomi-san. I think you’re needed at courtside rather than here.”

“Your player will be fine,” the nurse said. “I’m going to finish patching him up, ensure he rests for a while with a nice cup of tea. As soon as the doctor clears him, then he can return.” She gave a twinkling smile. “If you’re worried he’ll escape, then I could always –”

“I know Kita will always do the right thing,” Coach Oomi replied. He stepped towards the door, gave Shinsuke a slight bow, a deeper one for the nurse, then strode away, making his escape before anyone could change his mind.

“He looked as white as a sheet,” the nurse said, dabbing again at Shinsuke’s face. “If he hadn’t left them, I think your Coach would have joined you in sick bay.” She stepped back, scrutinising his face. “Now, how about a cup of tea?”

It was when he was sipping the tea, appreciating that she’d added sugar, too, that a visitor arrived. Hovering outside the room, he wouldn’t have looked up if it had been anyone else, but the bright pink of her tee shirt, and the name emblazoned on it brought tears to his eyes in a way the injury hadn’t.

“Am I allowed in?” she asked, bowing respectfully to the nurse. “This is my grandson.”

Granny had a bento box with her, one she packed with snacks to sustain her through his matches, and she lay it on the bed in the space between them, opening the lid and nudging it towards him. The koinobori  were golden brown, with fish scales drawn in multi coloured icing. He was too old, many would have said, to sit and enjoy these with his grandma, but the sound of their snap, and the taste infiltrating his tastebuds transported him to happier times, picnics on the grass and Granny pointing out the wonders of nature around him, wonders that could be as silent as the breeze through the grass, or loud as a crow cawing from a tree branch.

“You’ve been in the wars, Shin-chan,” she whispered.

“I am okay,” he assured her. “I don’t need stitches.”

“That poor boy,” she said, and selected her own koinobori, one with green and blue icing, rather than the pink Shinsuke had.

“Who?”

“Miya-chan,” she clucked. “Osamu? Is that his name?” He nodded, but must have looked puzzled. “The one you clashed heads with.”

“Um, yes, that’s Osamu. Why ‘poor boy’?” He inhaled sharply. “Is he all right?”

She patted his hand. “He is not injured, Shin-chan, but he feels guilty. His head is down.”

“It was an accident.”

“Your friend, Aran-chan, has spoken to him,” she said, smiling a little as she munched her biscuit.

 _Did I misjudge the play? Would the ball have gone out?_   “He stumbled and –”

“As you said, it was an accident. It’s how we rise above such misfortunes that the gods take heed of.”

The nurse returned bringing with her another cup of tea for Granny and then fired a few quick questions at Shinsuke. He answered, apparently to her satisfaction, but she still bade him to stay where he was.

“The doctor will need to check you over one last time,” she said cheerily. “Rest up and enjoy your tea, Kita-kun.”

Granny hummed and tweaked the sheet covering his legs. Bidding him to lean forwards, she plumped his pillow, then nudged the bento box further towards him. He ate another biscuit and they sat in companionable silence, neither needing conversation to bridge the gap.

It was as he picked up his cup again to drain what was left of his tea that he saw a figure bob past. Or rather he saw a thatch of dark red hair, and a purple shirt in his eye’s periphery, but when he turned to the source, all he was confronted with was a blank space.  He blinked – hard. His head hurt a little more from the action, so maybe it was an hallucination.

But then he spied some fingers clutching the door frame. Long fingers. Long fingers that were taped up.

“Tendou?”

“What was that, Shin-chan?”

“I think someone I know is –” He paused and peered closer at the door. It was definitely his hand. “Tendou,” he said louder.

The dark red hair that stuck up at an absurd angle appeared first, then one raised eyebrow atop a sleepy russet brown eye. “Hey, Kita-kun,” he said, sounding cheery. “How are you feeling?”

Appearing fully in the door, he gave a low and somewhat extravagant bow to Shinsuke’s Granny, and then bounded over the threshold.

“Just thought I’d drop by. See how my roomie is,” he breezed.

“I’m fine,” Shinsuke replied, gesturing to the bed and then the dressing on his head. “This is just a precaution.”

Granny gave the minutest of coughs.

“This is Tendou Satori. We’re sharing a room,” Shinsuke explained. “Tendou, this is my grandma.”

“Not from Inarizaki,” she said, assessing him. “Or Hyougo. Your accent is … from the North, I think.”

“Ah, yeah, Miyagi. I live in Sendai.”

“And you play?”

Tendou stared at her, then flicked his gaze to Shinsuke and gave a crooked smile. “Uh, yeah, I was playing today. We won.”

“I saw,” Shinsuke replied, and mouthed a thank you that Tendou hadn’t mentioned his proximity to the Inarizaki game, which would have embarrassed his gran. “Any idea who your next opponents are?”

“Looking like Itachiyama, but who knows?” He shrugged.

Granny swept some crumbs from the bed and into her hand, getting up to dust them off in the rubbish bin. “I shall leave you now you have a friend here, Shin-chan. Let me know how you are.”

“Oh, you don’t have to go,” Tendou put in. “I c’n leave.”

She crinkled a smile at him. “My grandson wants to talk about volleyball. Help yourself to a koinobori, Tendou-kun. I baked them myself.”

“The best kind,” he said, and picked at a purple biscuit, crunching half of it in his mouth in one bite.

Accepting a hug, and her ministrations as she dabbed away a crumb from his cheeks, Shinsuke waited until she’d left the room before leaning forwards. “What about Inarizaki?”

Tendou swallowed the rest of his biscuit, then took another. “Still playing. It’s kind of even right now, or was when I left. That sassy Middle Blocker of yours pulled off a magnificent block. Gotta say I whooped at that.”

“And Osamu?”

“Uh … which one is he?”

“Grey hair.”

Tendou grimaced. “Ah, he’s a bit quiet. Mind you, that might just be in comparison with his brother. He’s been yellin’ at everyone.”

Gritting his teeth, Shinsuke swung his legs off the bed. “I need to get back there.”

“Why? It’s not like you can play,” Tendou said, and stretched out. “Look, they’ll be good.”

“No, Osamu’s his own worst critic. And while Atsumu’s always loud, if he’s yelling at the others, it means he’s off his game.”

He should not be doing this. Waiting for the doctor to clear him was of utmost importance. He knew he wouldn’t be playing again today. There was no need for him to return so soon, and it was against medical advice. It was reckless and he was not a reckless boy.

But …

He was there to shore up Inarizaki, to lend steel, to bolster morale and supply support. And as much as he knew most of the team could barely comprehend his strategies, and would look askance at his methodology, they missed him when he wasn’t there.

Your team a- _dore_ you, Tendou had said.

And he’d not refuted that because on some level, they did.

Tears started in his eyes, an action so rare that it almost overwhelmed him and he dashed his hand to his face. He was their captain, and he might not lead them on court, but he had to be there in more than spirit.

“I need to be there,” he muttered, then tugged on Tendou’s arm. “Help me, please?”

“Uh, okay, but first off, you ain’t going anywhere looking like that. You’ll scare ‘em all.”

“What?”

“You have blood in your hair and under your nose.” He got up, not before crunching another biscuit, picked up some cotton wool and wetted it under the tap. “’K, I’ll try and be gentle on you, Kita-san.”

He was. His fingertips were cool, and the tape that occasionally touched Shinsuke’s cheeks was rough, but Tendou kept the contact to a minimum. He pulled away, squinted a little, then returned to under his nose, taking notice when Shinsuke drew in a breath.

“Maybe do that bit yourself,” he muttered. “It’s mostly gone. There’s nothing we can do about the dressing on your forehead unless you brush your hair over it. Hey, that’s not a bad idea …” Tousling Shinsuke’s hair, he arranged a fringe to fall dead centre rather than to the side, then gave him a grin. “Suits you, Kita-san.”

Swiping a clean pad of cotton wool across his face, Shinsuke removed the last of the blood. “Am I good to go?”

“You can face the world,” Tendou said, and held out his arm. “C’mon, let’s get those foxes of yours in the semis.”

Shinsuke wouldn’t have said his appearance changed the course of the match. He also would never have iterated the idea that Inarizaki appeared rejuvenated when he trotted back to the sidelines. He would have said none of this out loud, but the fact was that the team, as a whole, perked up when he appeared. In particular, Osamu, who was gearing up for a serve, gave a slow double blink, bounced the ball once and then gave the tiniest of smiles as he fired his serve across the net and pulverised the opposition. Atsumu’s yells were those of encouragement, Aran’s scowl had become a smile and Ginjima leapt as high as Shinsuke had seen him. The only ones unchanged appeared to be Ren and Suna, but then having spent time on the sidelines discussing points of play with both his Middle Blockers, Shinsuke knew that very little upset their equilibrium.

Inarizaki were four points behind in the third set when he arrived, but they caught up in the blink of an eye when he stood with a jacket over his shoulders.

Osamu served again, taking the full eight seconds, and acknowledged with a nod the cheers from the crowd when it was another ace.

“Yo! Yo! Trash twin’s done good!” yelled a voice in the crowd.

And although both Miya’s swivelled their heads to find the source, then did not appear to see the dark red hair of their barracker.

Osamu’s next serve set the stadium thudding. Received – finally – by Kyoto’s Libero, it wasn’t a clean receive, and ricocheted rather than flew towards their Setter. The block was easy, Ren scoring another point with aplomb.

Akagi sidled up to him.

“No stitches then?”

“Head wounds bleed profusely, I was told. It no doubt looked worse than it actually is.”

“It looks worse close up,” Akagi said, flashing him a sideglance.

“Then make sure the others don’t see, will you, Michinari,” he said, his voice low. “We don’t need the distractions right now.”

“Go go, Trash boy!” yelled someone just as the team band had quietened for Osamu’s fourth serve.

Akagi whipped around. “Who is that?” he demanded, not angry, more amused, Shinsuke thought.

“Does it matter?” Shinsuke replied. “Both Osamu and Atsumu are responding positively.”

Back on form, they tore through the third set, overtaking in the final furlong to win the match. Kyoto dropped to their knees, undone at the last by a set from Atsumu of such sublime quality that Shinsuke’s heart soared higher that Ginjima’s jump when he spiked the ball and painted the line.

“Semi finals, here we go!” Atsumu yelled, as the rest of the team thumped him and Gin on the back.

“And taking on Mujinano,” Suna murmured, watching the scoreboard as the third quarter final finished a few minutes later. “Aran-san will relish that.”

“We all will,” Shinsuke replied. He heaved in a breath, not daring to hope he’d be allowed to play. What mattered was that they were there, and now his job was to bolster his foxes whichever way he could.

They bowed to their supporters, Shinsuke catching sight of Granny standing by a banner, and then he led them back to the changing rooms.  Lounging against a wall, in casual clothes Tendou waited, clicking his tongue to attract Shinsuke’s attention.

“Great win,” he called out to the rest of the team.

They grunted, Aran muttered a thank you, and then as a man they trudged onwards. But Shinsuke slowed his pace, slipping away from the team.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

“You need to get back to the doctor,” Tendou said.

“I am fine.”

“Yeah, yeah, but last time I checked, you didn’t have a medical degree. Look, I’m a reckless guy, Kita-san, and I rock through life taking everything it throws at me, but you ain’t, so get yourself checked out, okay.”  He stepped back, pulled his bag off his shoulder, and fished out his Granny’s bento box, handing it over. “Also, you did say you’d call,” he said, “and you wouldn’t want to lie and say you were fine when you weren’t. Grannies always know the truth, even over the phone.”

A shadow loomed over them, one that made even Tendou flinch as he looked up into the cold but fierce eyes of Oomimi Ren.

“Shinsuke, is there a problem?” he asked.

He shook his head. “Tendou-san was kind enough to return this to me,” he said, and smiled up at Ren.

“And as I was saying,” Tendou plundered in, “she’s waiting outside for a quick word. Nice lady, that. Great koinobori. Say hi from me, will ya?” he said and stepped further away swooping under Rens’s arm. “I gotta go.”

Ren scowled as he watched him saunter round the corner. “Is he telling the truth?”

“Partly.” Shinsuke laughed. “This is my Granny’s bento box, and I do need to speak to her.”

“Right now?”

“She did see me injured,” Shinsuke reproved, and bit back the astonishment at how easy this fudging of the truth was springing to his lips. “I won’t be long, Ren.”

He increased his pace, following the route Tendou had taken, and a delicious feeling of glee curled inside of him. It wasn’t as if he were lying, but the unfamiliarity of not telling the entire truth felt new and exciting.  As expected, Tendou hadn’t joined his team, but had slowed down, dragging his toes against the floor. He glanced over his shoulder, saw Shinsuke and cracked a smile. 

“Want me to wait with you?”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Ah, that can wait. Shirabu takes forever in the shower and Semi’s perming his ears or something – must be a Setter thing – I guess. Anyway, I’m done and dusted and told the guys I was grabbing a drink, so I got some time.”

“I can do this myself.”

“Sure.” Tendou shrugged. “Look, I’m only here for the koinobori.”

Shinsuke shook the bento box. “This is empty!”

Tendou slouched, shoving his hands in his pockets, and peered at Shinsuke through hooded eyes and dark red brows. “Well, yeah. And I feel guilty about that, Kita-san, so if I come with you to the medical room and take the heat from that nurse for skipping out, then we’re even, right?”

Taking the next left, Tendou steered Shinsuke into the medical room – the bed he’d been sitting in had been remade, and the counter had been wiped down again. The nurse was in there, but when she turned around her cheery smile changed to pinched lips on seeing him.

“You returned then?”

“Yes.” Placing his hands together, he bowed to her. “I apologise.”

“He needed the toilet,” Tendou added. “You wouldn’t deny him that would ya? So I helped, cuz I was passing, and then we kinda took a detour.”

“To watch the game,” she stated, and now her moth was quivering with disapproval.

“I apologise,” Shinsuke repeated. “If I’d felt any dizziness or pain, I would have returned straight away.”

She gestured to the bed, and he sat on it obediently. “Wait while I find a doctor,” she ordered, then turned to Tendou. “If he moves from this bed, then I’ll hold you responsible.”

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” he replied, and held up a hand out in a salute.

It wasn’t the same doctor from before. Smartly efficient, but with very little of what could be termed a bedside manner, she shone a light in Shinsuke’s eyes, made him follow her finger, swept the bangs off his face to examine the cut, and peeled away the dressing.

“Superficial,” she declared. “You might not even have a cool scar. But I’ll reapply the strips. Take painkillers if you need them. Try to keep dry for at least the next two days.”

“Can I play?” Shinsuke asked. “It wouldn’t be for a whole match. I’m a substitute at best.”

She considered, chewing the side of her mouth, and her eyes drifted towards Tendou who was leaning against the wall and huffing out his cheeks. “Is this true?”

“He comes on when they’re in a pinch,” Tendou replied.  “Saves their asses.”

Peering at the cut again, she gave a quick nod. “Keep it covered. Maybe wear a band across your forehead, and you can play. Any sign of dizziness, then you come straight back to us.” Then she removed a pen from her top pocket. “I’m writing a note to your Coach to this effect. And don’t think you can get away with not handing it over because I will be looking out for you tomorrow, Kita Shinsuke.”

His eyelids fluttered, more in disbelief than surprise, disbelief that she thought him capable of not doing the responsible thing. But then he had already skipped out of the examination once, so what was she supposed to think?

The doctor leant closer. “In between tending to troublesome high schoolers, I managed to watch some of the games. I literally saw your clash, Kita-kun. And –” She eyed Tendou. “I saw you in action too, Tendou-kun.”

“I’m famous,” he croaked, and clutched his chest.

“I was rooting for the other guys,” she snapped, then smiled as she signed the note, handing it to Shinsuke. “Clear off, the pair of you and good luck tomorrow!”

“Who are you cheering for?” Tendou asked, giving her his irrepressible grin. “Gotta be Shiratorizawa now, right?”

“Itachiyama,” she deadpanned. “Always been a Weasles' fan.”

 

With a chuckle, Tendou stepped out of the first aid room, while Shinsuke adjusted his jacket. Catching sight of his reflection, and seeing the dressing, he rearranged his hair the way Tendou had, ensuring the bangs covered the wound. It wasn’t foolproof, but he looked a lot less pitiful this way.

“Right, I better run,” Tendou said. Examining his phone, he started to jog to the door leading to the carpark. “Catch you back at the hotel, Roomie!”

He watched him go, pressed his nose against the large window panes looking out over the carpark, and saw Tendou speed up towards their team coach. Semi Eita was waiting for him, raising his hand and shaking his head as he approached. He was late, that much was obvious, but from the way he lingered outside, using his hands to make his excuses, it seemed no one was that bothered. Maybe he always kept them waiting, maybe he wasn’t that late, or perhaps everyone just knew that this was Tendou’s way. Then Washijou-san appeared on the steps, and reached across to cuff Tendou’s ear.

 _Another hundred serves?_ Shinsuke wondered. _Or will he make him run back to the hotel._

And then he took a breath, squared his shoulders and walked purposefully back to the changing rooms. Inarizaki were still getting changed – an argument had ensued over Atsumu using up the rest of Osamu’s shampoo – but they were relatively quiet. Apart from Ren and Aran, he wasn’t sure any of them had realised he’d disappeared, so he slunk inside and slid across to the Coach Kurosu.

“Shinsuke-kun, you want to speak to me?” he asked.

“I have a note from the doctor,” he said, handing over the envelope. “It clears me for tomorrow’s match.” He cleared his throat. “If I’m needed, that is.”

A crease unfurled from Kurosu’s brow, the deep line becoming fainter and he gave Shinsuke a smile. “You’re always needed. Don’t ever underestimate your importance, Kita. That is why you’re Captain.”

And he knew that, really he did, but hearing it again from the Coach, made tears well in his eyes again and he sucked his lip hard, unwilling to let them spill again.

“QUIT THE BEEF!” Aran was yelling, and he picked something out of his bag, throwing a bottle at Osamu. “Use my damn shampoo, you moron.”

 _Situation normal,_ Shinsuke thought, and this time he didn’t repress the smile.

It was noticeable as the team left for their coach that Osamu was dawdling. Usually he’d keep apace with his brother, both of them barging each other like eight-year-olds to get the back seat, but this time he’d hung back, and his face was tipped down as if he were studying his shoes.

“Kita-san,” he mumbled.

“Mmm?”

“I’m sorry. ‘Bout the clash, I mean.” He scuffed his sneaker across the pavement. “You okay?”

“Cleared to play,” Shinsuke replied calmly. “And I am fine.” He touched Osamu on the arm, just the lightest of touches, a glance of the wrist, but it forced Osamu to drag his eyes sky rather than groundwards to meet his own. “It was an accident, and as much a miscalculation on my part as yours.”

“I thought the ball was going out,” Osamu said. “That’s why I was leavin’ it, and then you moved and I realised it was going to wipe that line, so I ran.” He shook his head. “I shoulda left it to you. We lost that set.”

“Your serves won us the third,” Shinsuke murmured, and then creased up his eyes. “That makes you ahead of ‘Tsumu with aces, doesn’t it?”

A laugh gurgled out of Osaumu’s throat, and he flicked his hair to the side, looking straight ahead to his brother, who was now at the coach.

“Hear that, ‘Tsumu?”

“Huh?”

“I’ve served more aces than you, scrub!”

“Ha – we got two more games, scrub. I’ll smash your record off the court,” Atsumu yelled back, and although the words were aggressive, the sudden lightness in his tone, and the fact he’d not entered the bus but was waiting for his twin, showed the relief he felt.

And of course, one twin’s mood affected the other. Mirror image twins, not polar opposites, and the same gene pool. Shinsuke had never believed in telepathy or special connections between players. It was the result, he thought, of hard work and dedication, a matter of getting used to each other, but the Miyas had _something_ not only based on familiarity, and when they weren’t fighting, it warmed Shinsuke from the inside.

A breeze reached them and Shinsuke’s hair ruffled.

“You are all right, aren’t you?” Osamu asked, looking back and gulping.

 “It’s a plaster, Osamu-kun, that’s all. No worse than you and ‘Tsumu give each other when you brawl. No stitches.”

“Sore head, right?”

“A little,” he admitted.

“We’ll keep the noise down.”

He was trying his hardest. All the team were, and he saw right then how worried they’d been when he’d been taken off. He might have disobeyed the nurse and his own set of rules, but returning to the sidelines, showing his face, had been the right decision.

His coaches and grandma would have made him stay put. Tendou had aided his escape, something that would be perceived as reckless, but ensured he’d gone back to get checked out.

“Do you want to share again with Atsumu, Osamu-kun?”

He considered it, then shrugged. “Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow.”

“What’s tomorrow?” Atsumu demanded, clearly irritated at how long it was taking them to reach him, he’d pushed his way towards them. “What am I missing out on?”

“Me not wanting you back in the room,” Osamu retorted. “Kinda nice bein’ able to wear my own clothes.”

“Pfft, you’re just jealous cuz they look better on me, ‘Samu.”

“Yeah, right. Models have gotta be tall, you know that, ‘Tsumu, and you’re … not!” Osamu grinned and ruffled his brother’s hair, then leant on him with his elbow. “You make a good support though.”

“Get off me,” Atsumu growled.

“What garbage are two spouting now?” Aran scoffed as they caught up. He blinked. “You alright, Shinsuke?”

“Fine. Bit tired. Osamu’s promised to keep the noise down tonight.”

“Ha! Riiight.”

“We c’n do that,” Atsumu agreed, sounding enthusiastic at the novelty this presented. “Bet I’ll be the quietest.”

“You pair couldn’t be quiet if you were dead,” Aran castigated. “You’d haunt us all in the loudest ways possible. Now get on that coach.”

Giving identical grins, they bundled forwards. No one had claimed the back seats, and Shinsuke watched as they made their way to them. Ren looked up and followed, taking the middle seat and no doubt warning them that no nonsense would be brooked if they played up.

“They were worried about you,” Aran murmured. “Everyone was.”

“There was no need.”

“But if it keeps them quiet tonight, that’s a good thing, right?”

“Mmm.” He closed his eyes, feeling the headache begin to impinge across his brow. It was their turn to eat out tonight, but all he wanted was a tray in his room and a good night’s sleep.

“Talking of quiet,” Aran continued. “Do you want to share with Ren tonight? I can handle that bastard Tendou.”

“I’m sure you can,” Shinsuke said and laughed. “But it’s fine. Tendou-san and I are accustomed to each other now.”

“You sound as if you like the guy,” Aran said aghast.

_I do._

“He’s interesting,” Shinsuke settled for. “And we owe him.”

 

Shinsuke didn’t know if Aran had had a word, or if Coach Kurosu had been particularly perceptive, but the news that they were’t eating out, but would instead take the earliest sitting for dinner was a decision that reached his ears around half an hour after they got back to the hotel.

Tendou sighed.  “Good job I had the biscuits. Gah, I’d rather have a team talk on a full stomach, though.”

Looking up from his phone as he sent a text to Granny, Shinsuke apologised. “I think they’ve rearranged because of this,” he said and gestured to his head.

“Yeah, thought as much.” He sat up and picked at the tape on his fingers, whistling tunelessly as he unwound each strip. “D’you really think that doc was a Weasels fan?”

“She had a Tokyo accent, so possibly,” Shinsuke replied. “Does it bother you?”

“Huh?”

“Not having universal support.”

“Not really. Like our cheer squad is pretty loud and drowns out a lot. I like their applause, not even gonna lie about that, but I can take what’s thrown at me.”

“You speak as if a lot’s been thrown at you.”

He shrugged, continued unpeeling the tape and for a long while, Shinsuke wondered if he’d overstepped the mark.

“I was the weird kid,” Tendou said as he screwed up each reel of tape into a ball. “And other kids don’t like that.”

“You were?” Shinsuke leant forwards, intrigued because Tendou’s story could have come from his own lips. “In what way?”

“Odd looking. Dark red hair, and my mom got it cut so I looked like a pudding. Scrawny too –“ He smiled, but to himself, then pinched the skin on his arm. “Not much has changed, but I’m a lot taller now.”

“But you’re … exuberant,” Shinsuke protested. “And you … your team like you.”

“Cuz I score points. I’m kinda annoying, I know that.” He cleared his throat. “Yeah, look, I’m not throwing a pity party here. I found my place at Shiratorizawa. Learnt that bein’ weird didn’t really matter as long as you gave it your all.”

Throwing the ball of tape towards the bin, he tutted when it missed but didn’t get up. “Back in the day, the other kids didn’t pick me for their team, so my name was always the last to be called. Then they realised I could beat them, but instead of selecting me, they refused to let me play at all.”

“That’s … horrible.”

“Meh, it’s what kids do. The Coach sorted them out, but then she wanted me to play a different way – more inclusive, I guess -  and that mighta made me more popular, but I was always an oddball doing things my own way, so …”  Trailing off, he began to pick at the adhesive on his knuckles.  “Washijou-sama is a freakin’ tough bastard, but he gave me my chance.”

He stopped speaking but the pick pick pick at his hands carried on, turning to rubbing as he worked away at the adhesive, erasing any trace, but leaving the skin pink and –

“It’ll rub raw if you continue doing that,” Shinsuke said, and handed over a bottle of alcohol gel. “I was considered the weird kid too, you know.”

“You?” Tendou snorted. “C’mon, you’re the most normal guy I know. Okay, you’re tidier than most, and quieter than most, and you keep your opinions to yourself more than most but when you offer them, they devastate the rest of us. You’re more obedient, incredibly diligent and … wow, I guess you are a little weird.” He grinned. “Actually, when I put it like that, you sound just like Wakatoshi. You guys could be so happy together. And I guess he was kinda weird as well. D’you think we all are? Is that why we play?”

“I play because I like the sport and I’m reasonably good at it. Like you said, I found my place in a squad. I found somewhere that appreciates the small things I do, but … uh …” He clicked his tongue. “If I hadn’t found volleyball, then I’d have found something else. Probably something more solitary.”

“Not here for the interaction, right? Or to make friends.”

“That’s a byproduct,” Shinsuke reasoned, “but a welcome one.”

Aran he counted as a friend, Ren too, and Akagi although their conversations were all centred around volleyball. But he still had to toe the line of senpai and captain with the others.

“I get that,” Tendou replied. “Like if I’d not made the team, I’d never have made friends with guys like Wakatoshi or Reon. Not sure I’d ever have spoken to Eita, yet now we’re kinda tight.”

“I’m not sure it matters how we make connections,” Shinsuke said, and got to his feet intending to go to the bathroom. “As long as we do.”

“You’re deep tonight, Kita-kun. Has that knock to the head done this to ya?” Then Tendou stood up strode ahead of Shinsuke, and bent down by the bin. “I got this,” he said, and dropped the tape in the bin. “And now I have a team talk to get to, so –” He gave the same sort of bow he’d greeted the nurse with, low and with a flourish, “I bid you adieu, fair Kita-san.”

“Pay attention to the team talk. Itachiyama are a tough team.”

“Yup, I know, but we got this.”

“You’re very confident.”

“Nothin’ gets in the way of destiny, and us stuffin’ Inarizaki in the final is destiny, amiright?”

“You are wrong,” Shinsuke replied, but he chuckled and kept smiling even after Tendou had gone.

His Granny believed in destiny, always telling him the gods were watching. Shinsuke, for his part, believed only in one’s own actions and the actions of those around him, but Tendou’s unassailable confidence was infectious, and for a moment his mind created an image of the future, the two teams playing on Finals Day.

With Kita accepting the winning trophy.

_You’re jumping ahead, Shin-chan._

“Sorry, Granny.”

***

Kiryu was Mujinano High’s main danger. Like Ushijima, he was the powerful ace around whom the team span. Atsumu was unusually quiet on watching the video of the match, chin in his hands, his eyes never flickering away from the action.

“You’ve met him, right?”

“Yeah, at youth camp,” Atsumu replied to Coach Oomi.

“He looks fierce.”

“He is.” Atsumu sat back when the video ended. “No disrespect to Oomimi-san, but this guy really is as scary as he looks.”

“How does he compare to Ushiwaka?” Suna asked.

“Different. He’s temperamental.”

“Like Bokuto?” Aran asked and glanced at Shinsuke. “So we break his spirit.”

“Nah, I don’t mean like that.” He sucked on his lip. “He’s ultra reliable, but it’s more like you don’t  dare not send the toss his way.  Well, if you’re scared of him, then you don’t, but if you’re a Setter who knows their stuff –”

“So _you_ set for him all the time, right?” Suna put in, a sliver of a smile on his lips.

Osamu and Gin snorted, their shoulders juddering up and down, but Atsumu didn’t react, and that’s when Shinsuke realised his intent. He always took games seriously, even if he got carried away at times, but this was one he was determined to win.

“You don’t like Kiryu, do you?” Shinsuke asked, pulling Atsumu aside.

“He’s competitive,” Atsumu managed at last.

“So are you.” Shinsuke bit back a laugh. “And I would have thought everyone at Youth Camp was. It’s like Osamu said, the flame burns bright in you.”

“Kiryu stops it being fun,” Atsumu replied. “Ushiwaka, Kiyoomi-kun, and Tooru-san, they all want to win, you know, but they love volleyball. Practising with Bokuto was hilarious, but I still knew how much he wanted it. Kiryu is _hard_.”

“It’s six against six,” Shinsuke reminded him.

“Yeah, I know.” And then his smile returned, blazing across the room. “We’ll take them down, no problem.”

Shinsuke’s head thrummed, so he gave in and took painkillers, knowing sleep would be hard to come by if the pain kept hammering at him. Tendou wasn’t back from dinner, so Shinsuke sat up reading through more notes on their opponents. It was quiet along the corridor. A murmur of voices reached him through the walls, but nothing distinguishable, and he could switch off the hubbub as he read.  Later , the doors slamming awakened him to Tendou’s probably return, a few yelled ‘goodnights’ and a cackle renting the air rendered that probability a certainty, and then Tendou rattled at the door, peering in.

“Not asleep, yet?”

“It’s not _that_ late.”

“Yeah, but I thought a good boy like you might be snoozing.” He splayed out on his bed, still fully clothed. “I’m exhausted! Can you turn the light off soon?”

_Don’t react._

“I thought you liked the blind open.”

“Not tonight. I need complete darkness to crash.” He shot up. “Holey Moroley, I forgot to ask. How’s your head?”

“Still attached to my neck.”

“Ooh, funny guy.” He sounded as if he approved, then bounced off the bed and leapt towards the bathroom, any signs of exhaustion completely gone. 

“Your window for sleep has closed, I take it,” Shinsuke said on hearing Tendou break into song.

“Semi Semi FINAAAAALLLLS!” Tendou sang “ITACHIYAMMMMMMAAAAA HERE WE COMMMMMME”

“TENDOU!” barked a voice. “Be quiet!”

“ITACHIYAMMMAAAAA HERE WE COOOMMMMME!” Tendou repeated, oblivious.

Either Semi Eita or Yamagata banged on the wall, but the sound only made Tendou louder.

“SHIRATORIZAWAAAA ARE THE BEEEEEEEEST!”

The knocking increased, and then moved, and instead of the walls it was the door being pounded.

“Tendou, open up!”

“I’m washing. Get that will you, Kita?”

Huffing, Shinsuke got out of bed.

And of course it was Ushijima there. Ushijima not in his pyjama’s this time, but the casual (or what passed for casual for him) clothes he wore when not on court. His trousers had creases pressed into them. He wore a shirt buttoned up to the neck, and carried a sports bottle in his hand.

“Where is Satori?”

“WE’RE GONNA POP THE WEASELS! WE’RE GONNA POP THE WEASELS! WE’RE GONNA POP –”

“I’ll give you three guesses,” Shinsuke replied and stepped to the side. “Won’t you come in, Ushijima-san?”

“Satori, you have to be silent now,” Ushijima said, not walking inside, but directing his voice towards the bathroom. He stared at Shinsuke, then his eyes flickered to the room. “It is quite tidy in here.”

Tendou’s black plastic bag was still in the corner, crumpled tee shirts spilling out of it. The drawers were closed but one sock peeped out. And the wardrobe door was open, displaying his garish purple suit.

It was not tidy, not to Shinsuke’s standards, and the thought that Ushijima thought this was a desirable state, and that Shinsuke’s fingers didn’t twitch at the thought of the socks not being paired properly, made his hackles rise.

He smoothed them down with a deep breath.

But they spiked again when Ushijima continued. “I would have thought after your injury, you’d want a restful night’s sleep, too.”

“I do.”

“Then you will tell Satori he is keeping the team awake.”

“Tell him yourself,” Shinsuke replied. “As you’ve already said, it is up to the captain to handle their team.”

“I am sure your team would appreciate the silence,” Ushijima said.

“Inarizaki are prepared for every eventuality,” Shinsuke replied stiffly. “Earplugs are a necessity.”

The bang of the bathroom door, and Tendou - shirtless and with a toothbrush in his hand and a toothpaste slobbery grin- appeared. “Hey guys, you having a fun conversation?”

Ushijima mirrored Shinsuke’s shudder.

“You’re making too much noise,” Ushijima stated, his eyes boring into Tendou.

Not that Tendou appeared to care. “You don’t like my song? I was going to teach it to the cheer squad tomorrow.”

“We do not need to hear it tonight. It is imperative we sleep.”

“I get you, Wakatoshi. I’ll be as quiet as mouse now.”

“Good.” Giving an imperious nod, Ushijima pursed his lips. “This is the second night in a row I’ve been disturbed. I don’t wish to be again.”

“Gotcha!” Tendou yelled, then cackled. “Sorry, I’ll be quiet starting from –” He mimed zipping his lips “Now!”

Ushijima didn’t even bow, but turned on his heel and left them. Tendou’s shoulders were jiggling up and down, and he began to conduct an invisible orchestra with his toothbrush “We’re gonna pop the weasels, the weasels, the weasels,” he sang.

“Tendou!”

“Hmm?”

“I have a headache.”

“Oh, yeah, right. I’ll stop now,” he stage whispered. “S’funny though.”

“What is?”

“There was me thinkin’ you and Wakatoshi were two peas in pod, like your twins ‘cept without the lookin’ like each other bit, but … the pair of you didn’t seem friendly at all.”

He wriggled into his pyjamas, the ungainly zebra bounding back to the bathroom to return his toothbrush and swilling out his mouth. Then he bounced back into the bedroom, closed the blind, turned off the main light before landing with a flop on his bed.

And Shinsuke stared into the darkness wishing his mind was a blank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you if you're reading. I hope you like the story because I've had a lot of fun writing these two.


	5. Hachimaki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Semi-Finals day and the 'Top Three Aces' have made the newspaper, which doesn't go down well with Aran.

“Bastards!”

Aran slammed a newssheet on the breakfast table.

While Shinsuke picked up the newspaper, Ren shuffled next to him. “What’s the matter?”

‘The Top Three Aces in Competition’, screamed the headline.

“Ushijima, Sakusa, Kiryu. I’m not even mentioned.”

This was unlike Aran. He was not someone who thrived on the publicity, but maybe this was too near the mark for him, and the thought of last year when he’d fluffed a spike that could have seen them through to the final, was clearly nagging at his mind.

Atsumu was featured, his lazy smile beamed across the page, and the set up with Osamu was mentioned, twins at this level clearly being the most novel thing the journalist could think of to write about Inarizaki.

“OOOH, cool picture,” Atsumu said, leaning over Shinsuke’s shoulder. “I should cut that out and send it to Granny.”

“Black out the teeth first,” Osamu mocked.

“I have great teeth.” He grinned wider and licked them. “See they sparkle. Ding!”

“Yeah, they’ll be sparkling on my fist if you don’t quit,” Aran seethed.

Both twins took a step back. They were used to Aran’s irritation with them, and yet they’d still wind him up, but this was different. This wasn’t annoyance, but a deeper need in their Ace, and one Shinsuke had only vaguely been aware of. He should have been the star of the team, but it was Atsumu – his kouhai who’d made it to Youth Camp, when Ojiro Aran had been left at home again. He hovered outside the top three Aces, but Bokuto Koutarou had been invited. Bokuto Koutarou, whose team hadn’t made it past quarters this time around.

“It’s like Tendou-san says,” Shinsuke murmured, and glanced at both twins, hoping they understood why he was saying this. “You’re our novelty. It’s why we’re the ‘Idol’ team. And our Setter’s going to make sure we all shine, aren’t you, ‘Tsumu-kun?”

Atsumu swallowed, possibly taken aback at Shinsuke’s use of his nickname. “My tosses’ll be so sweet only a scrub won’t be able to hit ‘em. Or ‘Samu.”

“Hey!” But Osamu’s grin was wide now too. They took their seats at the table, helped themselves to rice and started joking with Gin. And by Shinsuke’s side, Aran’s fists unfurled.

He thought about saying something, uttering some innate wisdom about the role of the Ace, his importance to the team, and how Aran was looked up to as a shining example, but Aran had picked up a pencil and was busy drawing a twirly moustache on Kiryu.

Childish, but effective, Aran’s shoulders lowered and his tongue escaped out the side of his mouth as he concentrated. And then he started on Ushijima.

 

The journey to the stadium was noisier than usual, even by the twins and Ginjima’s standards. It was light-hearted though, a way of easing the tension before they faced the day ahead. At Spring High they’d gone out at this stage, and although the creed of the team was not to look back, that memories weren’t what made them, there was always this vague fear that that had been their pinnacle.

The news sheet was already proclaiming them as third placers once more; their prediction was that the Ace showdown between Sakusa and Kiryu would be the highlight of the final.

The coach was slowing before it turned into a car park, which appeared full. There’d be crowds watching, not only their support, but a proportion of neutrals that’d waver on the day before making their decision.  And unlike the quarter-finals, the semis would be played consecutively and were not concurrent. Inarizaki had the first slot of the day – their supporters were already in place, but then the Kyushu team had a band, and had been in spectacular voice yesterday, too.

 _We’ll stride in like the idols they perceive us to be,_ Shinsuke thought and loosed his arms from his jacket, hoping it would flow like a cape. He tugged his hair into place, smoothing it over the dressing, and then, noticing the heat haze in the air, fumes shimmering in the stale atmosphere, he put on a face mask.

Although Shiratorizawa had the game after theirs, they were parking alongside as Kita chivvied the team to get a move on. Maybe they’d watch the game, or perhaps their Coach was serious about his the one hundred serves he’d set each player. Whatever the reason, as Kita waited for the kitbags to be unloaded, Ushijima disembarked from his coach and stared at the stadium.

“Yo, Roomie!” Tendou bounded towards him. “See you in the final!”

Ushijima turned around, appeared to register another team – or was that other people – were there, and nodded to Shinsuke.

“Oh, but, you don’t want to read that trash,” Tendou said and ripped the news sheet out from under Shinsuke’s arm. “Gah, they give us no chance, but we gotta prove them wrong, right? What do they know?”  He grinned, gave Shinsuke a wink and unfurled the paper.

Aran’s paper with the added embellishments.

Then he burst into laughter. “Hey, Wakatoshi.”

“What is it, Satori?” he replied, and turned full face.

“Give us a smile,” Tendou cried and brandished the newspaper. “I wanna see if you really have fangs.”

Apart from one perfectly raised eyebrow, Ushijima remained expressionless, but the waves of disapproval emanating from his stance were obvious.

“I didn’t –” Shinsuke began, but Ushijima was already striding away.

What was the point?

“Oh-oh, I better go!” Tendou sang, and twirled on his toes. “Hey, Trash-twins?”

“What?” they growled in unison.

“Play brilliantly, alright? I want to tear you apart in the final.”

“Like that would happen,” Atsumu yelled back.

“Better not mess up today then, so you can prove me wrong,” Tendou shouted over his shoulder, laughing as he jogged after his team.

“He’s an asshole,” Atsumu muttered. “We’d beat them easily in a final.”

“Tough opponent,” Suna joined in, with grudging respect. “Can’t wait to play him again.”

“Six against six,” Shinsuke reminded them all. “And focus on the game ahead.”

 

The Doctor who’d declared Shinsuke fit to play was standing in the entrance hall. Possibly this was a coincidence, but he had a feeling it was deliberate, particularly as her double-take seemed rather too practised. She made her way over, the crowds in front of her parting in the face of her determination.

“Kita-kun, how are you today?” she demanded, and introduced herself to his coaches.  “Yes, he can play, but I did advise a band across it. Something to protect the cut, just in case.” And then with wide innocent looking eyes, she produced something from her pocket.

“A hachimaki?”  Shinsuke stated, turning it over in his hands.

“I figured you’d prefer this to a huge dressing or a sweat band,” she said. “And look, it says ‘Win!’ on it.”

“But I’ll stand out,” he demurred. “That’s not … it’s not me. At least a dressing has a purpose.”

“No … this is better,” Aran interrupted. “Because they won’t necessarily know about yesterday and if you’re wearing this it’s more of a –”

“Fashion statement,” enthused Ginjima. “It’s cool!”

“But –” Shinsuke tried to protest, but then Atsumu wriggled forwards.

“Alright! This is great. Where can we buy some?”

“What!”

“Can’t have the Captain standing out more than the Setter,” that’s what ‘Tsumu’s thinking,” Suna drawled.

“I spent all my cash on that Ace t shirt,” Ginjima said, his mouth drooping.

“We can pool together,” Suna reasoned.

Aran butted in, sounding somewhat surprised. “It’s a good idea. And if we all have hachimaki, then no one will realise why you’re wearing one, Shinsuke.”

“I suppose –” he began.

Osamu was standing there, languid as he listened in, then parachuted a pearl into the conversation. “The cheer squad wear them.”

“So?” Atsumu said.

“So.” He mocked his brother’s belligerence. “We can borrow some. Saves money and …” He gave a ghost of a wink. “They got our motto on, right?”

“We don’t need memories!” Ginjima yelled, almost choking on the words.

“Right,” Aran adjusted the bag over his shoulder. “I’m going to get us - Actually …” He whipped his head around, focusing on Atsumu. “Make yourself useful, Idol-chan and chat up the cheer squad.  Hachimaki for all of us, got that?”

The Doctor laughed as Atsumu and Osamu charged off, each vowing to collect more than the other. “That’s what I call team spirit. Now, if I could have a few moments, I’d like to check the dressing.”

He followed her as she led him to the medical room, obediently hopped up onto the bed, and waited.

She smiled at him. “Like patience on a monument.”

“Pardon.”

“You, Kita-san. You’re waiting for me and I can tell you’d rather be with your team, but you also believe in doing things the right way.”

“Ah.”

“Not like that goofy friend of yours.”

“Hmm?”

“Tendou-kun,” she qualified. “An individual.”

“He is that,” Shinsuke agreed.

“But he looks out for his friends,” she murmured, and began to unstuck the strips on his forehead. “Did you know each other from childhood or something?”

“Pardon?”

“Did one of you move away?” she asked. “Rather nice meeting up at a tournament when you live in opposite parts of the country.”

“Oh, no, we’ve not known each other long at all. We beat them last year in the quarter finals, but apart from that …” He shrugged.

“Really,” she stepped back, dropped the strips in the bin, and then washed her hands before picking up some antiseptic and cotton wool. “Hmm, you get on well, despite being such opposites.”

“Circumstances,” he explained as she dabbed at the cut, “have led to us sharing a room. That’s all.”

“Ah, well, it looked like you got on to me. He made sure you came back to see us.” She stopped speaking as she applied a new dressing, and then stood back scrutinising her handiwork. “Yep, you’ll do.”

“Thank you.”

 

He hurried along to the changing rooms, skirting along the edges of the corridors to avoid the throng, and all the while the doctor’s words about Tendou buzzed at his mind. Infuriating, loud, unbelievably untidy, a wind-up merchant, as Aran would say, the scrubbest of scrubs according to Atsumu.

But she’s right. We’re opposites and yet we do get on.

 

Atsumu had collected twelve hachimaki and Osamu nine when he got to the team. No one had put them on because it appeared they were waiting for his appearance. Kita took one in his hands, running the fabric through his fingers and tautening as he gripped.

The creed jumped out at him.  ‘We don’t need memories.’

“Over or under hair, what d’you reckon?” Akagi was asking, staring in the mirror as he decided.

“Under!” both twins replied, grabbing one each.

“The morons can’t wear anything that’ll ruin their hair,” Aran mock-growled. He grimaced at his reflection, then tied the hachimaki tight. “How do I look?”

“Fierce!” Atsumu replied. “I wouldn’t want to be playing against you, Aran-san.”

“Then send me all the damn tosses, Atsumu-kun, and we’ll be sweet.”

There was something different about Aran. Usually before a match, he’d steady himself with deep breaths at the side of the room. It would look as if he were glowering, and Kita only knew what he was doing because he’d confessed once to nerves, expounding on the subject after a match they’d lost, saying he needed time to clear his head.

(‘I know you don’t understand,” he’d said to Kita. “You don’t get that fear you might muck up.”

“I know you’ve practised hard,” Kita had assured him. “And often, and as such your moves are ingrained in you.”

“You think I’m stupid.”

“No. I’d never think that.” He’d tried a smile, hoping to lighten Aran’s glum mood that day. “It’s why I clean up, or tidy things. Concentrating on the small things helps clear my mind too, I suppose.”

“You telling me I should clean the urinals before a match.” Aran had pulled a face.

And Kita had let rip a laugh. “Do what’s right for you, and I’ll stick to my way.”)

Today there were no deep breaths. He’d not gone through any ritual, taken himself away from the team, or even yelled (too much) at the Miyas. He was calm. He was focused. He was determined.

 

Mujinano High’s shirts were predominantly white save for a thick black panel in the centre. They strode onto the court as if they’d been born there, Kiryu grimly acknowledged their supporters, head held high and one arm raised. He was taller than Aran, and looked broader too, blocking the light as Kita led Inarizaki out of the changing rooms.

Their band started up, a mass of trombones and drums and voices raised in glorious cacophony, and as one, the Inarizaki squad faced them, giving a low sweeping bow to thank them for making the journey. Granny had moved to the front again, this time the shirt bearing his name was pale blue, and she gave no sign she’d seen him but he knew she had.

The expectations were high on both teams, the pundits unable to make a clear decision had decided to favour Mujinano – just – citing Kiryu’s superiority as the determining factor.

And Kiryu looked every inch an Ace _. The_ Ace. Tipped to take the number one spot, to overtake both Ushijima and Sakusa. A giant on the court.

But, as Kita had reminded his team, it was six against six, and no one, not even Kita, had factored in Aran’s pride that day.

While Atsumu was on top form, Osamu tireless, Ginjima inspired, Ren and Suna indomitable, Aran was without peer. He tore through the Mujinano defences, smashed through their wall tearing it down brick by brick.

It was a performance of such cohesiveness and raw power, that Kita wasn’t needed for the match. The hachimaki had been unnecessary after all, and yet, perhaps its magic lay in the fact that it had both distracted and unified his team.

Maybe we should wear them all the time, he wondered. Then sighed at his fanciful notion.

Atsumu was picking at the knot before he’d left the court, pulling the hachimaki off when it wouldn’t untie quickly. His grin was wide, high-fiving his similarly hachimaki-less brother as they walked up to the net to shake hands with their opposition. Kita shook hands with Kiryu, not wincing as the Wing Spiker gripped hard. His expression was set, tense, fury and despair vying to escape. And it wasn’t as if he’d played badly – the world could see he was a top three Ace – but Aran had been in a different gear that day, and Atsumu had only been too happy to keep oiling that gear.

Facing Kiryu – his nemesis – Atsumu didn’t break into a grin, didn’t smirk or raise a sardonic eyebrow. He faced him, shook his hand, and said nothing before moving on to greet the Setter.

He’s grown. Kita thought.

But then, Atsumu for all his faults, and there were many, admired good play and players, and rubbing the losing teams noses in it had never been his thing.

Why would I? he’d asked when Gin had questioned him. They already know we’re better.

But Kita had wondered if he’d be tempted, given his antipathy towards Kiryu.

“Bento boxes are in the changing room. Get some food inside you,” Coach Oomi instructed. “You can eat watching the next game if you’d like.”

“Don’t skimp on stretches,” Kurosu ordered. “And take on plenty of fluids. There are bananas too.”

The cheer squad were in full voice, the school song lilting on the air mixed with music and applause and an erratic thud, thud, thud of the drums as they threw caution to the wind and expressed their highest pleasure.

Then both coaches cleared their throats, and gave identical smiles, their chests swelling with pride. Kurosu broke the silence. “Brilliant game.  Well done, all of you. Aran-kun, you were at the top of your game.”

“I can do better,” Aran replied and bowed low.”Tomorrow, I will.”

 

Osamu had emptied his bento box first and was accusing Atsumu of pinching half of it, when the two teams walked on court. And it was a measure of how intrigued Atsumu was about the next match, that he didn’t snap back at his brother, but handed him an onigiri to shut him up.

“Tell me about Sakusa,” Aran muttered scowling. “What was he like at Training Camp?”

“Strong. Wakatoshi shades it, cuz he’s got a better focus, but when Kiyoomi-kun’s in the zone, he’s pretty much unstoppable.”

“No one’s unstoppable,” Suna replied, adding grudgingly, “Tendou-san is an excellent blocker.”

“I’m sayin’ what I saw,” Atsumu snapped. “He’s top three for a reason. Only …”

Ginjima pounced. “What?”

“He …” His eyes flicked to where the teams were warming up, Sakusa standing apart from the others. “What was it I said to you ‘Samu? Remember?”

“Breathe on him and he’ll collapse.”

Atsumu smirked. “He gets kinda paranoid about germs and keeping’ fit and staying’ clean and –“ He glanced at Shinsuke. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, Kita-san, but … it messes with his mindset.”

Thinking of Tendou’s socks spilling out the drawer, and the satisfaction when he’d managed to close it, Shinsuke lent Sakusa some sympathy.

“So if we face him across the net, I should start sneezing, right?” Suna said, and slipped a slice of tuna in his mouth.

Sakusa was at the back of the court, picking up a ball as they started their warm up. He tossed it in the air, and sent a swift serve over the net. Shinsuke frowned as he watched the ball’s course. Safe, well inside the line and not the rifle he was expecting.

“Looks average, right?” Atsumu murmured in an aside, his eyes flicking towards Shinsuke. “He holds back.”

“There was me thinking Ushiwaka was an automaton,” Ren breathed. “Sakusa gives nothing away at all.”

“Wakatoshi’s strong from the get go,” Atsumu agreed. “But neither of them waste any time on frivolous crap like congratulations.” He shrugged as Sakusa sent another one over the net, and the Itachiyama cheer squad began to yell his name. “I doubt he even heard that.”

Ushijima – as Atsumu had decreed – was strong from the start. From practise through to the beginning of the game, he showed his power. With Aran next to him, Shinsuke could sense the awe, mixed with a tinge of envy and despair that he might never attain such a level, but then who knew the practise both of them put in, or how their bodies fared under the stress.

In the centre, Tendou was leaping from one side to the other, guessing the balls course from the merest of moves from the Itachiyama Setter, and soon Shiratorizawa had stormed into a lead in the first set. 

Everyone was sitting back now, restless at how one-sided it was turning out to be. Everyone except Atsumu, whose look of concentration hadn’t faded. Shiratorizawa were leading eighteen to nine, Ushijima was exhibiting such raw power, he could have lit up the country if they’d harnessed his energy.  Tendou was leaping out of his skin, and the new first year had managed to rack up some points too.

But then it changed. Like a switch had been flipped, Sakusa served and this time sent a cannonball that ripped into Reon’s arms.

“He’s a _second_ year,” Aran muttered.

“And Reon-san ain’t easy to get past,” Atsumu replied. He reached out and cuffed his brother on the ear. “Watch.”

“I am!” Osamu retorted. “But I’m also hungry.”

Suna passed him a protein bar, handing it over without a word. “Their Setter’s learning not to make any unnecessary moves. Tendou-san got the last one wrong.”

And the match that had looked so one-sided, like an exhibition of the supreme opponents against a team of stooges, changed its course once more. It wasn’t a singlehanded dismantling, but Itachiyama found their gear, and backed by a Libero who worked out how to deal with a leftie,  stolid in defence began to storm into Shiratorizawa. They levelled the score, then Sakusa spiked another one down, treating Kawanishi’s block as if it were a puff of air. The crowd erupted, but the Itachiyama ace turned around, acknowledged the high fives of his teammate with a nod rather than a touch, and returned to his position.

_He’s clinical._

Shiratorizawa scrabbled together a series of points to win the first set, but it was a closer call than they’d anticipated, and the youngest team member was clearly rattled. Perhaps the occasion was overwhelming him as well as the Setter, who was staring dead during the resulting team talk. Maybe they’d put Semi on instead. Ushijima took on water, and listened to the coach, while Tendou hopped from one foot to the other, keeping his legs loose and his arms looser.

The game had been billed as ‘The Battle of the Aces’ but in truth it was a battle between two teams, of the same ilk. Both had the same creed - that unshakeable belief that might was right and power would win the day.

Shinsuke found himself more drawn to Tendou than Ushijima, watching as he blocked, or tipped, or slammed down a point. He was subbed out once as Semi came on to serve (it was a good serve but Itachiyama’s Libero made it seem like a beach ball and buffeted it straight to their Setter.  It was as if the Aces had negated each other – not that they didn’t score, but each team’s philosophy shifted into stopping the Ace, rather than winning the game.

“What do you think of Kawanishi?” he asked Ren when there was a break.

“Inexperienced,” Ren replied. “He’s good, but his eye isn’t quite there yet, you know.” Ren glanced at Suna. “He’s better.”

“Yes, I think so, too,” Shinsuke murmured.

The game became one of negatives, in soaking up the attacks, despair lingering as the points failed to materialise from spikes, but from block outs or a ball falling the wrong side of the line.

Itachiyama mopped up the second set, the last point ricocheting off Tendou’s outstretched hand for a block out.

“Gah, this is intense.”  Aran shifted further forward in his seat, mimed mopping his brow and focused on Ushijima, gearing up to serve in the third set.

“Too close to call,” Shinsuke replied. He reached for his water bottle, taking a steady sip.

“I keep waiting for one of them to break,” Aran continued, and started to massage his knee with his hand.

“Reon-san stops Ushijima being the target,” Shinsuke said matter-of-factly.

“You read my mind,” Aran replied and sucked in his breath as Ushijima leapt.

A no touch ace.

“Do you want Gin-kun to stand in front of you? Or Osamu?”

“Get in my way more like,” Aran growled. Then he grinned, the bad mood he’d been ruminating on all day dissipating away. “I like the way we play. And on our day, we’re unstoppable.”

And was it wrong for Shinsuke to clutch his hands together and send up a small whispered prayer for their day to be tomorrow?

Atsumu was rolling his shoulders, his attention finally waning as he stood up, ostensibly to stretch his legs. He’d seen enough, that much was clear, not too fussed about the result, but watching the possible Setters who could be playing, and how he could deal effectively with their future opponent’s wall. He had no peer in the contest. There wasn’t another Setter who could reach him right now, and although the game relied on more than just a Setter (or an Ace) it was he who directed the action.

“I need a drink,” he said. “Anyone comin’?”

Ginjima stood up, but Osamu waved his brother away. “Get me a puddin’, will you?”

“Get your own, scrub,” Atsumu replied, but his tone was teasing, and Osamu fistbumped him.

 _They could share tonight,_ Shinsuke thought. _Might suit them both to have some familiarity._

 

By the time Atsumu and Gin had returned, Itachiyama had opened up a two-point lead. It was a game on a knife edge, but perhaps that edge had blunted somewhat in the Weasels’ favour. Ushijima was still on form, still tireless in his spikes, and Sakusa rifled every toss that came his way, but the Itachiyama Libero, Komori, was stepping up his game and pulling off receives that Akagi could only gape at.

“Komori? Yeah, he’s great. Fun, too,” Atsumu remarked, when Akagi asked. He handed Osamu a chocolate bar, then snuck into the seat next to him. “I got on with him, anyway.”

“’Nother moron,” Aran muttered.

“Nah, he’s cool,” Atsumu replied, not taking the slightest offence. He tilted his head to the side. “That Wing Spiker looks tired.”

“Which one?” asked Suna.

“ Goshiki Tsu-something. Kid in our hotel.”

“Goshiki Tsutomo,” Shinsuke said. “He’s a first year. Mmm … looks like they’re pulling him off.” The third year Vice Captain was warming up. “Soekawa … he played in the match against us at Spring High.”

“Tendou’s back on,” Suna said, to himself more than anyone, then flinched when Osamu clapped him on the back. “Say what you want about him, ‘Samu, but he’s badass.”

 _And watchable_.

Shiratorizawa drew even, Tendou getting a point, followed up by Shirabu sending Ushijima a toss so sweet, Osamu declared his teeth were rotting. “Why ain’t you that good?” he joked to his brother.

“Kid’s got to get one right,” Atsumu scoffed, but his focus was back on Shirabu, and he began to pick holes in his form.

“Maybe … just maybe,” Ren began, his voice slow when Atsumu was in full flow, “the best Setters are the ones you don’t notice.”

“Huh?”

And Atsumu’s face was so bemused, unable to work out if Ren had been deliberately insulting him, that Shinsuke bit his lip hard to stop the laugh. For whatever Atsumu said, and however much Inarizaki knew he was their star player, the Itachiyama Setter was in the same mould as Shirabu – diligent and self-effacing, and as the game went on he piled more pressure on Shiratorizawa by sending the ball to his Ace.

“Pair of goody-two-shoes,” Atsumu scorned.

“Better than being bare-foot,” Osamu chimed. “OOOOH!” His eyes lit up, and one side of his mouth quirked up into a smile. “Excellent dump shot!”

They began to bicker, Atsumu making a sound like ‘pfft’ and  saying ‘Even you could do that, ‘Samu.’ But it was all light-hearted and watching the pair of them, Shinsuke saw equal glints in their eyes, the fire burning just as bright in both.

On court, Tendou was staring through the net. He was crouched, coiled like a spring, and even though Shinsuke couldn’t see his expression,  he knew Tendou’s eyes would give the appearance of being half-closed, but he’d be taking everything in, unwilling to give ground to an infuriating opponent. Maybe he was focusing on the Setter, or possibly the Middle Blocker, but then it was equally likely he was keeping his own brand of intimidation for Sakusa.

 _If he starts coughing and spluttering, I’ll know_ , Shinsuke thought and stifled a snicker.

“What’s so funny?” Aran asked.

“Nothing,” Shinsuke replied.

The set continued, a grinding out of points, a grinding down of Spikers and Blockers and neither team wanting to buckle.

At 29-29 Shinsuke realised how stiff his shoulders were. They cricked when he rolled them, the sound surprising him. He was barely ever _this_ tense, not even when he was on the sidelines watching their own games, but something about this match, the seesaw on a permanent level, the endless power matching power, (or perhaps, just perhaps, it was because he knew the players) had caused his muscles to seize.

“You’re looking serious,” Aran said. “I mean, even for you, you’re looking serious. You okay?”

“Mmm. This game really is too close to call, isn’t it?”

Aran huffed out his cheeks. “I’m honestly not that fussed who we get to play, you know? But I understand if you’re a little biased.”

“Biased?” He blinked.

“Yeah, Tendou must be such an ass to share with, I bet you wish they’d gone out earlier.”

“No.”

“Huh?” Aran had turned back to the game, and it was only then that Shinsuke realised he’d left it a good while before replying.

“Nothing.” Shaking his head, he frowned as his focus trained once more on Tendou. He was on his toes then heels, not bouncing but stretching and …

_Has he got cramp?_

“What do you think of Soekawa?” Aran asked.

“Solid and reliable.”

“No flair,” Atsumu jumped in, eavesdropping. “I get he’s decent, but he’s kinda dull.” He scowled. “They all are, come to think of it. Well, apart from the old Guess Monster.”

And as if he’d heard, Tendou – as he walked to the back of the court for his serve – twisted his head around, found the Inarizaki team, and gave what appeared to be an exaggerated wink. He sent the ball over the net. No tricks – strong enough, but no problem for Komori.

Atsumu snorted. “His serving’s boring, though. Thought he’d have a bit more … kick.”

“Tired, probably. Running on empty, right now,” Suna said as the Itachiyama setter tossed the ball perfectly for Sakusa, who showing no sign of exhaustion, slammed the ball down for a point.

29-30.

“You guys get to slack off though,” Osamu mocked, and threw his chocolate bar wrapper at Suna’s head. (It missed and hit Gin, who yelled a ‘hey’ then went back to the match). “See, Tendou’s getting his rest now.”

“Because we do most of the work while you’re grabbing the glory, you flash git,” Suna retorted.

It was bickering, light-hearted and not the sort that Shinsuke feared would descend into acrimony, but he could feel a growing irritation with the banter. It was snapping at his heels, and he had to resist a strong urge to kick out.

 _It’s because I want to watch the match,_ he thought, but their noise didn’t usually bother him to this extent.

“Aaaaand, Kiyoomi’s serve,” Atsumu announced. “Match point. Gah, that’s a great feeling, knowing it’s in your power to end the match once and for all.”

“It isn’t over yet,” Ren reminded him, momentarily breaking his own silence.

The team hushed. It wasn’t the first match point of the game, but the fifth, but it was the first time either Ace was serving for the match. If Sakusa failed, Ushijima would be up next, and no one would count him out.

But then, would anyone count out the Pretender to Ushijima’s throne either?

Sakusa began his run up, tossed the ball high, leapt from the balls of his feet, and slammed the serve. Yamagata flew for it cushioning the ferocious serve with his arms and body. But his form was unstable and the ball he sent to the Setter arced wildly. Shirabu reached, sent the ball to his ace, and Ushijima released a spike. Komori received it, and the tiniest of laughs escaped his lips, as the ball span upwards. There was precious little control over it, but the Setter managed to steady his toss, this time sending it to the Middle Blocker, and Kawanishi, who was watching Sakusa, read the ball too late.  Yamagata, sensing the danger, stepped forwards, ready to take the cannonball.

The ball skimmed the net.

 It teetered.

And dribbled over, splashing like a teardrop on the floor.

The silence stunned the stadium – neither side able to believe what happened. How the game had come down to this.

And then Itachiyama screamed, a cacophony of cheers and drums and shrieks and whoops and their incessant victory song.

 _So,_ _it’s Itachiyama_ , Shinsuke thought, and quashed the faint disquiet in his gut.

_We’re going to pop the weasels, we’re going to pop the weasels, we’re going to pop –_

_Stop it._

Across the court, Tendou’s shoulders sagged briefly, and then he clapped Semi on the back, and began the procession onto court. His fingers picked at the tape around his fingers, peeling off each strip, and by the time they’d formed their line up, his right hand was completely tape free.

Coach Kurosu harried them on to the bus. Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, he took Shinsuke to one side, impressing on him the need for the team to get the best sleep possible, to eat well, and to listen to the team talk.

“Strategies!” he exclaimed, and waved a notebook in Shinsuke’s face. “I might even pick Washijou’s brains – that is if he’ll help.” He scuffed a stone across the car park. “Keep the Miyas calm, Kita-kun. I’m relying on you. I do not want a melt down before or during the match. Afterwards, they can beat eleven bells out of each other, but until then …”

The twin subjects of this conversation hand launched themselves on the bus, storming through to the back seats, Atsumu loud and jubilant, Osamu only a semi-tone lower. 

“Excuse me,” Akagi murmured, pushing pas as he prepared to take his turn and sit with them, but Shinsuke put up his arm

“If there’s trouble, I will sort it out.”

Akagi looked concerned. “Uh… Kita? Are you sure? It’s really no trouble and –”

“Go and sit with Ren. You played well today and you need to relax, too.”

Shrugging, Akagi shuffled away, then slid into the seat next to Ren.

“Kita-san!” Atsumu exclaimed, his grin so wide it split his face in two.  He moved his bag off the middle seat. “You joining us?”

“I’ll sit in front,” he assured the pair of them.

“Why are you here, Kita-san?” Osamu asked, unfurling his legs to sit up straight. “Usually it’s another bodyguard.”

“I wanted to thank you, actually,” Kita replied, and smiled at their confusion. “I know you didn’t like wearing the hachimaki, but you kept it on.”

“Ah, weren’t so bad,” Osamu drawled, but his fingers were rubbing his head. “Itched a bit.”

“I looked cool,” Atsumu said, and let out a huge yawn, not bothering to hide behind his hand. “But –”

“It put you off your stride, is that right, ‘Tsumu-kun?” Kita said, and turned his face to stare into Atsumu’s eyes, meeting the golden-brown with equanimity.

“How d’you –”

“You like a certain order, Atsumu,” Kita replied, and settled back into his seat.

Atsumu leant over the headrest, resting his chin on his hands. “What d’you mean? I’m not about to clean toilets or tidy my room.”

“You demand silence when you serve. Osamu wants the full eight seconds. The slightest thing can put you off.” He pressed his lips together. “I don’t want your equilibrium upset tomorrow. Or yours, Osamu.”

Osamu had stretched out, the brim of his cap shadowing his eyes. “I’m cool.” His shoulders began to shake. “Trash Twins sure showed the Guess Monster, right?”

Laughing, Atsumu flopped back in his seat. “Tonight’s gonna be a lot of fun,” he said smirking. “Wonder when he’ll crack.”

“What?”

“Tendou. Now he’s not playing, he’s fair game, right?”

“No.”

In front of him, two of the first years stiffened. Kita lowered his voice then twisted around, taking in both of them. “Tendou-san might not have a game, but you’ll leave him alone.”

“Huh? He’s been barracking us the entire tournament, Kita-san.”

“And he could have had you both sent packing the second night we were here. Or have you forgotten that?”

“He was winding us up.”

“It was an accident.”

“You both reacted on instinct. I get that,” Kita admonished. “It’s a tossup whether the pair of you lash out and release the pressure or ruminate too long and become bitter.” His eyes flickered to Osamu, catching the slight flush on his cheeks, and then to Atsumu who hadn’t blinked, but whose mouth had drooped. “However, I also know that both of you are good sports. Atsumu, you appreciate good play from anyone you see, and Osamu, you absorb the minutest interactions. Learn from the match we watched.” He took a breath, silent, unwilling to let them know he was picking his next words carefully. “I’d like you to share tonight.”

“Huh?”

“The others need to sleep. No one should have to play nursemaid because the pair of you can’t get along. Ginjima-kun, in particular, needs to be able to relax, and Aran must stay focused.”

“Uh … well, sure … we can-” Atsumu scratched his head. “I’m kinda surprised but –”

“I’m trusting you,” Shinsuke said. “Both of you. But I know if you begin barracking another player, particularly Tendou-san, who you’ve both told me gets off on provocation, then you’ll end up winding yourselves up even more.”

“Sure,” Osamu mumbled, and shifted back in his seat.

“I want to win tomorrow. And I want you two to shine.”

Atsumu examined his nails, rubbing his finger tips together and gave a small nod. “Sure.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go oh oh! 
> 
> Thank you for reading.


	6. Packing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone reading, who's made it this far. I've had a blast with this.

They’d finished their first team talk (a debrief of their semi) and Shinsuke was tidying the now-deserted side room, when Shiratorizawa trudged back to the hotel. From the look of it, they’d be working out their frustrations on the court. Maybe their Coach had held true to his one hundred serves decree. Ushijima led the way. His face a little paler, but his expression was the same as it always was, the loss not able to gain a hold on his features yet. The young Wing Spiker had red eyes, puffy too, and the look of someone who’d crumble if you so much as breathed on him. Semi walked side-by-side with the other Setter. Neither spoke to each other, but there was something almost comforting about their proximity. Bringing up the rear was Tendou, a little behind a staring-at-the-ground Kawanishi.

“Hey, it’s not your fault, man,” Tendou was saying, clapping him on the back. “Team of six and all that shit. And boy, Sakusa musta been taking all his vitamins. Wonder how many he takes? D’you think he has a special sterilised room where he sits to take them in case of contamination. Wakatoshi, you’ve met him. What’s he –”

“Satori, calm down,” Reon called back.

“Too soon, right?” Tendou said and sighed dramatically. His shoulders rounded and he lowered his arms in an exaggerated flopping stance, so it looked as if he were dragging his knuckles on the floor. Continuing for a whole two steps, he suddenly sprang upwards. “Hey, SPRING HIIIIIGH!”

“What?” Kawanishi muttered and stumbled out of his gloom.

His arm stretched to the heavens, his other hand on his heart, Tendou began to sing. “Spring HIIIGHHHH! Ay Ay Ay Spring HIIIIIIIIIGH!”

“We will retuuuuurn for Spring Hiiiiigh!”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.”

Shinsuke watched as Semi stepped backwards, waiting for Tendou at the bottom of the stairs. “Go and get changed. Have a shower - a cold shower - and calm the fuck down!”

“But SPRIINGGG HIIIIGHHHHH, Semisemi,” Tendou pled, and dropped to his knees, declaiming his passion. “We shall return for Spring HIIIGHHHHHHH! We will FLYYYYYY. We shall WIIIIIN!”

Through the gap in the door, Shinsuke saw Yamagata’s shoulders shaking, and when he turned around, looking down on Tendou and Semi, he was smiling. Pretty soon, Semi’s lips twitched as well.

“Go and get changed, you daft eagle,” Semi said, and cuffed Tendou on the head.

“Are we eating in or out?” Tendou asked, and tugged his hair upwards. “Only I have to plan my look.”

“No idea.”

“Meh, who needs a plan?” Tendou got to his feet and wrapped one arm across Semi’s shoulders. “I got styyyyyyle.”

Fiddling with the pencils a short while longer, so Tendou didn’t realise he’d overheard, Shinsuke finally emerged a good ten minutes after they’d gone upstairs. Shouts from the dining room alerted him to the fact that Inarizaki had gathered for dinner, and … he was late … actually late this time, but maybe only Aran would notice.

“Pencils,” he said when he arrived, and everyone swivelled their eyes his way. “I was sharpening them and there was nowhere to put the shavings. Apologies.”

They’d finished the soup when the first members of Shiratorizawa arrived. Evidently they were eating in and weighed under with disappointment, none of them spoke beyond muffles or thank yous to the hotel staff. Ushijima strode in, making his way to his usual place, when he paused, turning his head to stare at Shinsuke.

“Well done, Kita Shinsuke,” he said, not lowering his voice at all, despite his team’s almost ghoulish silence. “Your team played well.”

“Thank you.” Kita bowed his head. “You were …” He grasped for a word. “- unfortunate.”

“We lost.” Ushijima’s tone and the straightening of his shoulders implied Shinsuke had insulted him.

And then of _course_ Atsumu began to laugh, and his laugh set off Ginjima, whose fit of giggles sent Atsumu into paroxysm. Osamu’s face was straight, but there was a determined set to his lips as if he were straining to keep any laughs inside, and Suna had his hand over his nose, pretending he was coughing.

Shaking his head, Ushijima turned away, any sign of truce or understanding gone.

“Why do you have to be _so_ childish?” Aran seethed.

“Huh?” Ginjima’s jaw dropped.

“Laughing at Ushijima like that,” Aran explained. “The four of you are such an embarrassment!”

“Uh … it wasn’t –” Suna began.

“It’s not Ushiwaka –” Osamu continued, adding, “Why what did he say?”

“Then, what?”  Shinsuke shook his head. “What are you behaving so immaturely abou-”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something shift. Not so much shift as leap!

Atsumu took up the story. “We saw - ” He stopped speaking. “Um, something and –”

“TA DA!” A figure jumped into the centre of the room. A figure in purple – no mulberry – clashing disastrously with his dark red hair.  And it was even worse, even more garish than Kita remembered. There was a patterned inlay, and Tendou had found a peacock bow tie which Shinsuke would have placed a small fortune on being one that spun round,

“Have I got style, or have I got style?” Tendou proclaimed. He smiled widely, then sashayed model-like up to the Inarizaki table. “Hey, Roomie, see this looks great, don’t it?”

“It’s your … champ –” No he couldn’t say that. “It’s your … suit.”

“You’re right, it _was_ my Champions’ suit, and I gotta get the wear out of it, so I’ve renamed  it a GET READY FOR SPRING HIIIIIIGH suit!”

“You look cool, Tendou-san,” Suna managed.

“See, Middle Blockers have the best taste,” Tendou replied, seemingly not noticing Suna’s stifled smirk and Osamu’s lips disappearing as he pressed them together even tighter.

“Now, lead me to the foooood, I’m starrrrrving!”

“You’ll have a soup and declare you’re full,” Semi chided, but pulled out a chair for him. Then he twisted around, found Shinsuke, and smiled with an almost effortless grace. “Good win today. Sorry if Satori’s suit gives you migraines. It’s really _not_ an attempt at sabotage.”

Tendou’s own brand of charm, his ungraceful and clumsy attempt to boost morale at his team’s table, did begin to work. Goshiki’s mouth wobbled into a smile at one stage and Ushijima began to speak to Reon, answering in words of more than one syllable. Kawanishi piled his plate with korokke and beef, whilst sharing comments with Shirabu. And still talking, nineteen to the dozen, Tendou kept up a running commentary on an array of subjects, from the food in front of them, to the shirt Semi was wearing (Urk, did your granny dress you?’), the manga series he’d just started, even the hair gel he hadn’t been able to get hold of in the nearby shops.

But for all that it worked, it began to get tiring. The constant chatter in a loud voice, the endless jokes, the banter and laughter grated, until Shinsuke could hear not just Aran’s teeth grinding, but the whole of his team.

(He felt remarkably relaxed, but decided not to thank about that right now.)

“Hey, can you cool it?” Aran called out. “Some of us want to eat, and hearing about some flesh eating monster in a manga, isn’t helping!”

Expecting Tendou to increase the volume, to add extra horrific details to his story, Shinsuke touched Aran on the arm, ready to soothe, perhaps to smooth out a compromise and appeal to Tendou’s better nature, but to his surprise, Tendou stood up, raised his glass and faced the Inarizaki table.

“Look, guys, this is only water, but I toast you! Well done and good luck tomorrow,” he said, and gulped at his drink. He’d spoken swiftly, then carefully placed his glass back on the coaster, quirked a grin at Semi, then stepped away. “And I’m gonna go now. But hey, Trash Twins?”

Atsumu and Osamu glowered, twin expressions of hatred burning into Tendou’s soul.

“Stay _punchy,”_ he teased, _“_ and beat those damn Weasels, alright?”

Semi watched him leave, a slight frown creasing his brow, then Soekawa asked him a question and he returned his attention to the table.

***

After their second team talk, one dedicated to the taking down of Itachiyama, according their coaches, or the ‘annihilation of the weirdo weasels’ according to Atsumu, Shinsuke was biting back a yawn. His head had started to twinge from the cut and all he wanted was to return to his room, check the dressing and then get into bed. It was too early to sleep, but he could read through his notes again, or perhaps distract himself with some of his holiday reading.

“Coach has said we can stay down here and watch some television,” Aran said, touching his arm. “Good way to relax.”

As Suna found a show they all liked, cars screeching across the screen and cops yelling out orders, Aran sighed.

“Not relaxing for you, I get it. Look, go to bed. I’ll keep an eye on them.”

Shiratorizawa weren’t letting off steam. Perhaps none of them understood the meaning of the word, apart from Tendou, because the corridor was practically deserted. He could hear the odd word of conversation, muffled behind the walls, and a refrain of music reached his ears as he paced towards his room.

Practically deserted. Ahead two figures stood – Semi (no one could fail to recognise that hair shimmering under the corridor light) and Yamagata. At first Shinsuke thought they were returning to their room, but as he approached, he heard Semi knocking on the door, and a whispered, but no less urgent ‘Satori, open up.’

“Is there a problem?”

Both started, then Semi’s eyes widened. “Kita-san, we were about to come and find you.”

“Pardon.”

“We want to speak to Tendou, and you have a key, I take it.”

“Alternatively, he could let you in himself. Perhaps he’s in the shower?” Shinsuke replied.

“No, no, he’s not. We can hear him and he won’t open up.” Semi rolled his eyes. “Look, this happens sometimes, and normally it’s not an issue because even if he has his own room, one of us always has the back-up key, but … ah …” He licked his lips. “You have the other one this time, Kita-san.”

“If Tendou hasn’t opened the door, then he’s either asleep or wants some alone time,” Shinsuke said. _I can hardly berate him for that when it’s exactly what I’d want._

But as soon as the thought emerged in his head, he realised how unlikely this was.

“Post match crash,” Yamagata said succinctly. “He was too damn high.”

“And he barely ate,” Semi confided. “He picks at food anyway, but he drank some soup, and that was about it.” Clearing his throat he tapped on the door. “Satori, Kita-san is here now, so he’s going to open the door.”

“So?”

“ _Sooo_ … can we come in and talk?”

“Nah, I’m sleeping.”

“Satori, get your butt out of bed and open the damn door!” Yamagata seethed. “Or I swear, I’ll bust in and drag you out of there!’

“Hayato-kun, I’m at least seven meters taller than you,” Tendou replied. “And much as I love ya, I’m tired.”

They looked resigned, but not to leaving, rather they were determined to see this through, to ensure Tendou was all right and not suffering. Semi was swallowing and running his hand through his hair, breaths short and face pale. And to Shinsuke, who’d only ever seen Semi Eita in unflappable – if slightly bitchy – mode, this volte face was a startling contrast.

“I can hear you all out there,” Tendou continued. “And it ain’t very fair for Kita-san, for you to be delaying him. He’s got a f-final tomorrow.”

The stutter pulled Shinsuke out of his contemplation.  “Tendou-san, you’re right. I need rest, so I’m coming in now. The other two are going.”

“No we’re not,” Semi argued.

“I’ll make sure he’s okay,” Shinsuke whispered. “If he’s not I’ll hammer on the wall, okay?” He gave what he hoped was a conciliatory, reassuring smile. “I have to deal with my team’s highs and lows on an alarmingly regular basis, so I do know what I’m doing.”

“Just Kita-san,” Tendou interrupted. “’Cause he don’t feel the need to yack.”

Semi and Yamagata met each other’s gaze, then nodded briefly. “Okay, Satori,” Semi said. “We’ll leave now. If you want to play cards later, then drop round.”

They slid back to their room, and Shinsuke opened the door to his, steeling himself for whatever state Tendou was in. But contrary to expectations, he wasn’t collapsed on his bed, or huddled on the floor. Tendou stood by the window, peeking between the blind slats, his face lit by flickering neon green, highlighting a ghostly pallor and rendering his hair a sludgy type of brown.

And despite the mulberry suit and the peacock tie, Tendou looked … ordinary. Forlorn and contemplative. He was done, and there was an immeasurable sadness that had settled in the air around him.

“Only a game, right?” Tendou muttered. “We’ll be back for Spring High.”

“Is that a comfort?” Shinsuke asked.

“What, knowing no one else can touch us in Miyagi?” He shrugged. “I guess. I mean, Oikawa Tooru would argue ‘til the cows come home that Seijou can take us down, but it ain’t happened yet.” He flipped at the blind again, leaning forwards. “There’s a guy out there selling glow sticks. I have no idea why. Like, this whole neighbourhood is one giant glow stick, so why would you want to walk around with another one?”

“People need colour, perhaps,” Shinsuke replied.

“You know what pisses me off, Kita-kun?”

He didn’t wait for Shinsuke to answer.

“All this fucking neon stops us seeing the stars. That’s why we had to go up to the roof. I can’t see any fricking thing from here, and –” he let out a shuddering breath. “They’ve blocked the door off, now. I tried earlier.”

“Middle Blocker’s Hand,” Shinsuke reminded him. “You were right, you know. I studied Suna’s hands and they really do stretch.”

“They do?” He laughed, a little bitterly. “I made it up, although maybe I’ve hit on something.”

Shinsuke stepped closer to the window. If he raised his hand, he could touch Tendou’s shoulder, perhaps get him to turn around, to talk or at least to smile, and say what was really bothering him, but as he debated, Tendou slowly turned his head and stared into Kita’s eyes.

“I lost us the match.”

“Pardon.”

“That last point in the second set, you must remember it. If I’d blocked properly, then we would have won that point. It would have been deuce and then our serve, the Coach could have brought Semi on, and his serves are amazing, and he’d have won us the game and –”

Shinsuke’s hand was on Tendou’s shoulder, gripping tight, and he had no recollection of when he’d moved, when he’d made this contact, this attempt at comfort, just that he had. But what happened now?

 “You’re gonna say something profound,” Tendou sighed. “There was me thinking you hated yacking.”

“You know all of this, Tendou-kun. You’ve heard the team talks and the debriefs  at least as many times as I have. It’s six against six. A team sport. A point lost is not one person’s fault. You went for the block. It nearly worked.”

“Still feel like shit.”

“You’re allowed to feel that. You can be sad.”

“No, no I can’t.” He sounded weary. “I’m Tendou Satori, the annoying guy. I create unity even if it’s a united antipathy towards me. I ain’t the clown who cries inside, okay? I’m just the clown.”

“They like you,” Shinsuke said, thinking of the two who’d camped outside the door.

“I ain’t good with pity, Kita.”

“It was concern.”

“I don’t mean from them. Your team, ‘specially that gang o’ four, they was all ‘kind’. I mean what the hell was wrong with the Trash Twins tonight?” he snapped. “They couldn’t even insult me.”

“Oh.”

“What?” Tendou zoomed in on him, cricking his neck as he glared. “You telling me it weren’t pity?”

“Ah …”

“Whaaat?”

“Atsumu and Osamu are under strict instructions not to wind you up, or rub your nose in it. They expressly informed me that they wanted to make you crack,” Shinsuke began. He was somewhat tentative, but seeing Tendou’s eyes begin to glint rather than blank, he continued, “They’re behaving – partly because they _are_ genuinely good sports – but also because I told them you could still have them sent home.”

“For real?” One corner of his mouth had twitched upwards.

“Yes, for real. Oh, and Suna …”

“Aw, my snarky sass mate, what about him?”

“He hates your suit. He was taking the piss.”

Tendou chuckled. “Sneaky sass monster. Jeez and there was me thinkin’ he was my soul mate. Kid’s got no taste.” Taking in a breath, it caught in his throat and the chuckle became a rasp. Tendou wrenched himself away, and slumped down the wall onto the floor. “We lost.”

Kita looked down at him, at a loss to know what brand of comfort would help, but carried on in the hope plain speaking was the best way. “You did. And it’s devastating, I know that.”

At Spring High both twins had been unable to speak. Ginjima – only brought on as a sub – had cried and Suna’s hands had trembled as they’d lined up. Tears had streamed from Ren’s eyes, a solitary tear had slipped down Aran’s cheek, which he’d dashed away as he’d tried to take a steadying breath. Their former captain had led his team to the net to say well done to their opponents and found the words had stuck in his throat, finally released into a husking sentence, barely comprehensible. For his own part, as a team member who’d barely made it on court, Shinsuke had faced each player, congratulating in a small voice, the same words over and over, everything passing in a blur. He’d been out of it, insignificant as far as the opposition were concerned, a player who would no doubt leave after the next Inter High and leave no trace or memory that he’d ever been around.

Tendou sniffed. “I guessed wrong.”

“Hmm, maybe. Tell me, Tendou-kun.” He lowered himself to the floor crossing his legs as he sat in front of the collapsed heap of mulberry that made up the person of Tendou Satori.

“What?”

“Do you blame Ushijima for not getting his serve past Komori.”

“Don’t.”  He flapped at Shinsuke with his hand. “If you’re going to list every single fault in the team, then that comes under the category of yacking and I’m not listening. We lost. And right at this moment all I can see are the points I mucked up. They play over and over in my mind, and I can get through this. I know I will, but what you and the other guys have to realise is that it’s only when I’ve gone through them all and worked out exactly what I did wrong, and what I missed, that I can breathe again.”

Making sure everything was in order. Every small thing accounted for. Shinsuke could understand that.

“Putting it right?”

“In my head, yeah.”

“Then … would you like me to leave you alone? I can join my team if you need space.”

“You’re a good guy,” Tendou breathed. He swallowed, and rubbed his eyes, then with a watery type of smile, quite unlike his usual smirk, he reached out and clasped Kita’s hand, pulling him close.

And it happened so fast, with absolutely no warning, but Tendou had reeled him in and was now enveloping him in his arms, his head flopping on Shinsuke’s shoulder as he squeezed tight. He could feel a heart beat thumping, adding its discordant rhythm to one far steadier.

_Oh my ... what?_

“Jeez, I’m sorry.” Almost as soon as he’d hugged, Tendou let go. “My team are used to me, but you ain’t a tactile guy and –”

 “I’m … fine.”

And he was. Except, the only heart he could feel beating now was his own.

“Would you like to talk?” he asked. “I can listen and I won’t offer any advice.” He smiled through the gloom. “I won’t yack.”

“Shame,” Tendou sniffed. “You have a mefilluous … uh … mellifluous voice. Soothing, you know.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah.” He shuffled along the floor, closing the space until he was pressed against his bed frame. “Wanna share my wall, Kita-kun?”

He slid alongside him, and Tendou tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling. “Tell me something to cheer me up? What else have the trash twins been saying?”

“Atsumu said your serves were boring.”

“Hey!”

“It surprised him,” Shinsuke said, and started to laugh. “He said everyone on Shiratorizawa was dull except for you.”

“That’s almost a compliment.”

“Uh … Tendou, coming from Miya Atsumu that really is a compliment.”

“I’ll take it.” His sigh became a groan. “Gah, I’d have loved to have played you guys again. That Suna kid sure has improved. And Gin… uh … what’s his name? The one that was a sub at Spring High.”

“Ginjima.”

“I like his style of play. Kinda uncomplicated, like Tsutomo.” He sniffed. “Mind you …”

“What?”

“I’d have hated bein’ responsible for you cryin’ Kita-kun.”

Shinsuke kept the laugh to himself, answering gravely, “I rarely cry, Tendou-san, but victory tears would be a special case.”

“Huh? Oh – HA! Nice one.” Puffing out his cheeks, Tendou harrumphed like a horse, and straightened up, resting his chin on his knees. “If you need to sleep, I don’t mind. I’ll read or something.”

“I’m okay. Not tired, to be honest. What about you? Don’t you have a game tomorrow, too?”

“Ah, the third place match. What a joy that’ll be. Both teams pissed they’ve lost and havin’ to pretend it matters. Why we can’t just share the losers’ position, I don’t know.”

He was drooping again, his voice flattening to monotone.

“It’s a match,” Shinsuke reproved, but very gently. “And against a top team. Isn’t that an opportunity?”

“Nah, Washijou’s already said he’s gonna use it to mix things up. I doubt I’ll even start. I ain’t in his good books,” he said moodily, and jutted out his lip. “I wouldn’t care ‘bout that ‘cept …”

“What?”

“We’re leaving before the final. Coach says there’s no point hangin’ around.”

The blind rattled, and the neon green from outside was joined by a white light that filtered through the gloom, resting its rays on the centre of the room.

_Tidy._

And the bed, Tendou’s bed, was made efficiently. Not the way the hotel maids made them, but the sheet pulled tight over the mattress, hospital corners and the quilt folded into three at the foot.

The black bag, tied tight in the corner.

The drawers and wardrobe closed, no clothes peeping out.

No single glove on the floor.

Or zebra pyjamas under the pillow.

It was as if Tendou had already left.

“Don’t leave,” said Shinsuke at last.

“Hmm.” Tendou answered but there was no question in his voice.

“Don’t skip out, Tendou.”

There was no denial. “How do you know?”

“A guess.” He touched Tendou on the hand, felt how cold his fingers were and clasped them tight. “You’d get into trouble.”

“Coach don’t care as long as I score points. If I ain’t playing, I’m guessing he’d rather I weren’t around.” He shrugged. “Whole team might get on better.”

“They like you,” Shinsuke repeated. “And I’ve watched you in your games. You’re the glue, Tendou-san. That first year and the Setter, they’d be at each other’s throats. You bring Ushijima out of himself, and I’d also hazard a guess that you stopped Semi-san from calling it a day when he lost his place.”

An indrawn breath and he knew his deduction was accurate.

“He’d have missed it too much,” Tendou mumbled. “All I did was make him see he loved the game.”

“And,” Kita ploughed on. “If your coach really is mixing things up, then what if he starts with your friend? Maybe Semi will have the game of his life and if you missed that then …”

He trailed off and gripped the hand tighter. Tendou gasped, a wide throated sob clutching at his throat, and his fingers twisted, interlacing with Shinsuke’s.

“I know why you’re Captain,” he said at last.

“I was given the shirt, that’s why,” Shinsuke replied drily.

“Nah, it’s cuz you make things right,” Tendou rasped.

In profile, Tendou still cut a bizarre figure, the spiky hair, the snub of an upturned nose and an upper lip protruding more than usual when Tendou dragged his teeth across the bottom one.

And a flurry of an impulse swept across Kita, not a feeling he was used to being someone predicated to considering his moves first. But there it was:  the impulse to lean over, to cup Tendou’s cheek in his hand and to see what on earth it would be like to press their mouths together and -

But he was not a person built on impulses. Although there’d been a time as a boy, seven-years-old and looking round his new school, when he’d been at the back of a crocodile line, and they’d filed past a building with wooded doors and high windows and he’d heard noises – different noises – of excited shrieks and pattering feet, the slam of the ball on a polished floor, the squeak of sneakers,  and unable to contain his curiosity, he’d left the line and scooted across, poking his head around the door and –  ‘ _WOW!’_

_So perhaps …_

But Tendou released Shinsuke’s hand. He didn’t move away, instead his head flopped sideways onto Kita’s shoulder, his hair tickling his cheek. “Is my suit really that bad?”

His hair smelt of soap, and with a tiny sigh of equal parts relief and regret, Shinsuke remembered the conversation at the dinner table about the lack of hair gel.

“It’s horrendous.”

And Tendou laughed.

***

The blind had stayed down in the night. Tendou had acquiesced to using Shinsuke’s spare nightlight and both had slept well. Shinsuke woke to see Tendou already dressed, silently creeping out of the bathroom and pushing his feet into his still tied trainers.

“Are you –”

 “Going for a run,” Tendou assured him. “I like the streets at this time of the day. No neon, and not that many people around.”

Pulling on a hat, making sure the peak covered his face, Tendou gave a small bow and wink and then left the room, closing the door softly. And he didn’t pound up the corridor, didn’t shriek a hello to everyone or bang on the rooms to wake up the other players, but left without fuss or attention.

Going to the window, Shinsuke peered through the blind, waiting for him to emerge from the front of the hotel. It was six in the morning, the sun had barely climbed at all, and yet Tendou had also acquired a pair of sunglasses, a pair which gripped his face and reflected rainbows to everyone he ran towards.

 

The third place playoff was the earlier match, the warm up for the main event. Shiratorizawa were getting ready to leave for the stadium when Inarizaki were finishing off a late breakfast. The contrast was clear, a buzz of anticipation hovered over Shinsuke and his players, but resignation had shrouded the Shiratorizawa team. It wasn’t gloom, but rather a weariness. They were, supposedly, playing for honour, but under the immense disappointment of not making the final, it was hard for any of them to summon up the requisite enthusiasm.

At Spring High, having gone out at that stage too, Inarizaki had won purely by channelling that disappointment into rage. Looking back, Kita remembered he had spent a large part of their pre-match practise exhorting Atsumu not to lose his cool, to keep focused. He’d calmed Osamu, when he’d wanted to thump his brother for a toss he’d not quite reached, and reminded Suna not to think the game won, even if they did open up a breach of points. Aran had been rubbing his right knee when he’d thought himself unobserved, but met Shinsuke’s eyes, then stared at the ground. He’d been rested at the start of the match, so Ginjima had started, and grabbed his chance, imbuing the team with his excitement.

They’d won, and shortly afterwards, when they’d returned to school, Shinsuke had been handed the Captain’s jersey ahead of his fellow third years, and possibly to the surprise of the others.

No one had questioned it, however. No one had complained, or declared it was unfair. Aran had come closest, but it was Shinsuke’s response he got into a knot about, and not the fact he was Captain.

Finishing his tea, Shinsuke watched Ushijima walk out of the hotel, heading for their coach, a vee of players straggling in his wake, as if he were making his entrance. Perhaps that was how he lived, making an entrance. Maybe that was the sort of Captain he was – leading from the front on every occasion, his team more an entourage than individuals. Apart from Tendou, who’d draw the attention wherever he went, and who was still hanging around the lobby, coaxing his hair upwards.

Shinsuke approached, inclining his head as a greeting. “Good luck, for today,” he said. “They’re a tough opponent.”

“Wee-eelll, if I get a game, I’ll remember that,” Tendou muttered, sounding bitter. He stopped fiddling with his hair and scooted to the front door.

“There are other ways to be a team member, Tendou-kun,” Shinsuke said, following him.

“Ouch!” He grinned, and stepped into the sunshine, adjusting his sunglasses. “I ‘preciate last night, and … yeah … good luck for the final. I think I’m s’posed to say somethin’ like ‘Win for us, Kita-san!’,” he declared and clutched his hands to his heart. “But I doubt your boys need geeing up.”

“Satori! We are about to leave!”

“Yeah, yeah, comin’, Wakatoshi!” With a slight bow and a grin, he loped after his team, calling back over his shoulder. “You got me into trouble again, Kita-san!”

And it was the very opposite of the truth and they both knew it, but right at that moment, even feeling Ushijima’s unwavering disapproval, Shinsuke did not care.

***

Coaches Kurosu and Oomi were agreed that the time spent before the final would be spent on warm ups and practise. There was no merit in watching the third place playoff. Not that anyone in the team minded. The final was their focus, and no one cared about spectating a match that could bring no advantage.

But when they’d stretched, and Shinsuke had finished his set of practise serves, it was discovered that the water bottles needed refilling, so Shinsuke offered, taking  Riseki with him, who was eager to get involved, even if he couldn’t play.

The commentary could be heard in the corridors, as well as the cheers and jeers of the crowd. _Have I subconsciously agreed to take on this task, just so I can see what’s happening,_ Shinsuke wondered, and smiled to himself as he slowed, attuning his ears to the commentator.

**[And after losing the first set, Shiratorizawa Coach Washijou, is making changes.]**

**[Looks like his intention to try out new things and field a weaker side is a gamble he doesn’t want to follow through on.]**

**…**

**[Yup, he’s putting on Middle Blocker, Tendou Satori.]**

**…**

**[Can you see Mujinano making any changes?]**

**[They’re keeping the same team. Kiryu’s looking as fierce as ever.]**

**…**

**[It’s great to see both teams fired up for the match, isn’t it?]**

**[Sure is! Now, let’s see what Shiratorizawa have got and …]**

**…**

**[That’s a great point from Tendou Satori. Scoring right from the off!]**

 

“Kita-san?” Riseki sounded tentative, chewing on his lip. “There’s a free water fountain here.”

“On my way,” Shinsuke replied, smiling when he heard Tendou’s resounding ‘ALL RIIIGHT!’

 

The team were ready. Preparation perfect.  Atsumu was just on the right side of competitive spirit, one intent on tearing down the opposition and not his teammates. Osamu, alongside him, was more sombre, quieter, grey, but his eyes were lit with the same fire his brother’s held. Ginjima quivered from head to toe, Aran breathed slowly in and out, furling his hand into a fist. Ren and Suna were limbering up, Suna keeping his torso loose as he gyrated his hips, Ren stretching his arms over his head, splaying his fingers as he mimed a block.

Long fingers, Shinsuke observed, that night on the roof garden coming back to him. Had Tendou made that up as he later admitted? Or maybe there was a truth in it - that those who strived could make anything happen, even growing their fingers to pull off an impossible block.

Preposterous! But then everything about Tendou Satori was preposterous, yet he existed and thrived and leapt and roared his way through life.

Adjusting his jacket so he could easily fling it aside as he entered the arena, Shinsuke straightened up and squared his shoulders. “Let’s go.”

 

***

When first he looked back, he could remember very little of the game. It came back in flashes, once the shock had gone.  But he remembered Ginjima and Aran sinking to the ground in horror, Ren stoic on the sidelines, Osamu lost, his mouth open, and Akagi pounding his head after the final ball ricocheted off his arm. And he could still see in his mind’s eye Atsumu’s despair. His disbelief that it had come to this and it was Sakusa who’d get the applause.

For although he won the prize for Best Server, receiving acclaim for his skill, it was a consolation prize, and one Shinsuke knew Atsumu would have abdicated for team glory.

And that was always his strength and his redemption. He wanted the team to win above his personal gain.

There was no point in reminding them that they’d done well to get to the final. They knew that. And there was no reason to say that they’d done better than the year before. Inarizaki were a team living not on memories, but plans.

They were a sober bunch returning to the hotel. There was no one approaching Tendou Satori amongst them, all feeling the loss keenly and on their sleeves. No one hid their intense disappointment, or tried to boost morale. It was a time for reflection, to take in the loss and not bury it under a multitude of jokes. They would get through this - their way. And if that involved some snapping and snarling, or curling up arms around knees rather like a fox wrapping its tail around itself, then that was Inarizaki’s way.

Tomorrow they would look forward. Tonight was their time to lick wounds, even self-inflicted ones.

From the way Osamu had remained silent since the match had ended, it was clear he blamed himself. But no reproof had left Atsumu’s lips, and as they left the dining room, Atsumu leant on Osamu, and the pair lingered in the doorway before linking arms to their bedroom.

Later, after giving them time to breathe, Shinsuke knocked on their door. Atsumu answered, a grim type of smile on his face, but he stood aside to usher his captain inside. There were clothes on the bed, and one side of the wardrobe was open, with two hangers on the floor.

“Sorry ‘bout the mess,” he said. “’Samu’s packing.”

“It’s fine.”

“Wondering why I have to carry all this stuff, when you wore most of it,” Osamu chided his brother. He nodded to Shinsuke. “Hi.”

“I have a spare bed tonight,” Shinsuke said, coming straight to the point. “If either – or both – of you need to talk, then I’m around.”

“Ah, that’s cool,” Atsumu muttered.

“I’m fine,” Osamu replied. “Just … want to get home.”

“Back to our gym,” Atsumu added.

“Spring High,” Osamu agreed. He let out a sigh, then stared up at Shinsuke. “Thank you, Kita-san. I think we’re good.”

“We will be,” Atsumu said. “Hey, that shirt’s mine, ‘Samu!”

“No, Granny bought it for me!”

The noise from outside rattled at their window, and Shinsuke stared out of it, catching another view. He frowned. “Your window.”

“What about it?”

“It faces a different way from mine.”

“Uh, yeah, cuz it’s the room on the end, I guess,” Osamu replied. “Why?”

_So that’s how he got it wrong. That’s how he miscounted. It wasn’t deliberate at all._

“No reason.”

Smiling, Shinsuke left them to it, and wandered back to his room, hands in pockets. He’d read a book tonight, not study team notes, or plays or anything else. He could focus on nothing, let his mind blank, and switch to neutral.  But as he opened the door to his room, the last dying rays of the August sunshine hit him square in the face. Soon the store and bar signs would be flickering their way through the blind, polluting the sky so he’d not see the stars tonight.

The room was tidy, empty of life. He waited for Tendou, waited for the explosion of colour to leap into the room, to stamp out of his jeans, clean his teeth while singing, and fling his shirt onto the bed. He waited for jokes and crazy pyjamas.

But there was nothing, except a small sprig of lavender on his bedside table and a solitary glove on the floor.

_Why a glove? Did he ever tell me that?_

He bent down to pick it up, felt the wool scratching at his fingertips, then heard a rustle. Shinsuke blinked.

The note inside was written on a small piece of paper torn out of a notebook, maths equations on one side and on the other…

**_‘Hey, Kita-kun. It looks like I’ve left my glove behind, so would you be a good Roomie and send it back to me? Here’s my address …’_ **

Shinsuke smiled.

**_‘And just in case you can’t read that, here’s my phone number._ **

**_Oh, and on the off chance my numbers are illegible, here’s my email._ **

**_Yours Tendou …. but if you want, you can call me Satori.’_ **

_Satori … yes, I’d like that._

**_‘PS: if you don’t know the result of the match, then check the bin.’_ **

 Holding his breath, Shinsuke stepped to the corner of the room. The bin was empty except for a small ball of tape stuck to the side. He gurgled out a laugh, feeling just a little bit lighter inside.

 

***

“Spring High,” Ren said the next morning as they loaded up their coach. “Tokyo, right?”

“Itachiyama’s home turf,” Aran growled.

“No problem,” Atsumu replied, swinging his bag into the storage section. “We’ll show those city scrubs how to play, right, ‘Samu.”

“Yeah,” he replied and huffed out his cheeks. “C’mon, ‘Tsumu, race you to the back row.”

“You coming, Shinsuke?” Aran called out.

“Just a minute.” Shinsuke stepped back to the terracotta pot. Peeking through the soil, the yellow dandelion had changed to seedlings. And there was no breeze, so ignoring his Granny (for once) he plucked it with his fingers and blew very gently. The seeds swirled around him, floating off in different directions as he spun around. Some went west, bound for Hyougo, perhaps. And the others drifted away, caught on a sudden gust carrying them east … or maybe it was north east and to Miyagi.

_Spring High, Satori, I’ll see you then._

“Shinsuke?” Akagi asked. “Are you okay?”

“Mmm. I’m giving nature a helping hand, that’s all.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe I've had too much fun. Ha! A story that started as a bit of crack, ended up with me exploring the team dynamics far more thoroughly than I'd thought. 
> 
> I'm now in rarepair hell and might end up writing a sequel.

**Author's Note:**

> Confession time: the name of this ship is KitTen, which makes me laugh too much.


End file.
